


A Truth Universally Acknowledged

by jadewriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadewriter/pseuds/jadewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the Final Battle, certain exiles make a triumphant reappearance in the lives of our favorite war heroes. The lives of Hermione Granger, Head of the newly created Office of Magical Research, and Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived Again, may never be the same. Based on Pride and Prejudice, but featuring many magical twists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pride and ... Polyjuice?

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley of The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, were loath to say that they were perfectly normal. However, after years of being the first people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious - thanks to their connection with Harry Potter, the adventure-prone savior of the magical world - normal is what they became, if only by wizarding standards. 

Indeed, the three years of postwar existence for the Weasleys had been singularly lacking in excitement of even the garden gnome variety. Bloodshed and espionage seemed distant memories. Only Fred Weasley’s clock hand, eternally pointing to “Beyond the Veil” on Mrs. Weasley’s venerable family timekeeper, served as a reminder that the war did make its indelible mark on the family. 

After the war ended, Mr. Weasley was promoted within the Office of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic. While he continued to investigate occurrences of improper use of magic against the non-magic British population, he now also assisted in auror training. His “Muggle Technology 101” course, which featured a demonstration of the use of power drills, was a particular favorite among his pupils, although none of them outshone Arthur when it came to enthusiasm for the subject. He also taught a Muggle popular culture course with the aim of aiding trainees in interacting with Muggles while working incognito. 

Mr. Weasley’s admittedly bumbling sessions were considered a soft option by the aurors at large, but quality improvement studies leaked from the newly instituted Office of Magical Research revealed a marked improvement in wizard-Muggle relations, particularly between the non-magical and wizarding governments. It proved, head researcher Hermione Granger mused, that fostering greater understanding between the two communities was all that it took for much-needed social change to take root. A Muggleborn herself, Hermione was perhaps Mr. Weasley’s most vocal advocate at the Ministry. 

Mrs. Weasley returned to her prewar lifestyle of cooking ever-more-delicious savories for her ever-more-numerous family. Yet a spark, yet to be extinguished, had been ignited inside her when she wrought vengeance on the dastardly Bellatrix Lestrange during the war. As soon as her daughter Ginevra left home to play for the Holyhead Harpies, leaving an empty nest in her wake, Molly Weasley’s restlessness became obvious to the rest of the war-hero crowd. 

On this autumn evening, Mrs. Weasley had laid out quite the feast for her visiting brood. Ronald Weasley passed the treacle tart to Harry, who played a double role in the family as Ron’s best friend and Ginny’s boyfriend. George animatedly demonstrated samples of his joke shop’s new line of children’s toys to a squirming Victoire, while her possibly pregnant mother—no one quite liked to ask—Fleur looked on disapprovingly. Teddy Lupin happily smashed more peas with his tiny fists than his grandmother Andromeda could manage to stuff into his mouth. Mr. Weasley and his eldest son, Bill, conversed quietly about Muggle perceptions of goblins. Off to one side of this Rockwellian tableau sat the gathering’s two oddballs, Hermione and Percy Weasley. 

Hermione was no longer quite certain where she fit in with the group. She and Ron had found during their brief dating stint that they could agree only on one thing: their romantic incompatibility. She and Ginny were friendly, but they did not call each other best friends, not in the way that Hermione and Harry were best friends. Hermione continued to visit the Weasleys each Sunday out of habit, long after she and Ron had fizzled both as lovers and friends. She liked Mr. Weasley best of the lot, but she could always just visit him at work. Why did she continue to attend these family dinners? Why was she still invited? 

_Perhaps Mrs. Weasley thinks Ron and I will rediscover a long-buried passionate love for each other,_ she reflected gloomily. Spying Ron shoveling peas into his mouth a la Teddy, she shuddered. _A very, very deeply buried love, maybe._

“What do you think, Hermione?” Percy asked, uncomfortably close to her ear. She jumped slightly. 

“I’m sorry, Percy, what were you saying?” she replied apologetically, guiltily aware that she had zoned out on the brainy Weasley son for at least the fifth time that night. Percy had lightened up considerably by the end of the war, but he still favored cauldron bottoms and their ilk as dinner topics. _Maybe Mrs. Weasley thinks Percy and I will discover a long-buried passionate love for each other,_ she pondered. The idea held some water; arguably, Hermione and Percy were well matched intellectually. It was only too bad that Percy, like Ron, had the emotional range of a teaspoon.

“To be honest, I’m surprised you haven’t brought it up yet,” Percy began. _Here we go,_ Hermione internally sighed. “You’ve heard about the new lightweight 14-carat-gold cauldrons that have been entering the international market from France, yeah? Well, they’re saying in my department that there’s actually something rather odd going on with those—they think the person who patented them is someone who’s supposed to be dead.”

“Hmm,” said Hermione, interested in spite of herself. “Who do they think it is?”

Percy puffed up slightly. “Well, they think it might be dear old Prof—”

“Attention, everyone!” Mrs. Weasley tapped on her wine glass and beamed genially at her loved ones. “I am so pleased that you could all be here tonight.”

“As if we aren’t here every Sunday night,” Ron muttered, shooting Hermione a look that all too pointedly called her out on her unwelcome presence. Harry frowned and nudged Ron in the side, simultaneously sending Hermione a commiserating glance. With his mouth full of treacle, he looked rather froglike. Hermione choked back an unladylike giggle at the thought of the horror Harry would feel if he knew that in that moment he looked like Umbridge. 

“I have some news,” Mrs. Weasley enthused. “My dear Arthur, have you heard that the old Bagshot estate in Godric’s Hollow has been purchased at last?”

Arthur replied that he had not. 

“But it is,” she replied. “Dawlish was just here this morning, and he told me all about it.”  
Everyone was astounded. Why was the Minister of Magic visiting Molly during work hours? When did Molly and the former auror even reach speaking terms?

Amid the resulting din, Molly could not be heard. Harry, taking pity on her, tapped his glass with his spoon. “Hem hem.” Everyone noticed the likeness to Umbridge this time and shuddered collectively.

“Thank you, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said primly. “Well, don’t you want to know who has taken the estate?” 

“My dear Molly, you clearly want to tell us, and I personally have no objection to hearing it. Does anyone else?” said Arthur. 

“What I’d like to know is why Dawlish doesn’t have anything better to do with his day than gossip with Mum,” George stage-whispered. The rest of the table nodded fervently. Molly ignored him. 

“The Minister says it’s been taken by a very rich young man who grew up in this country but lately has been in France. He came down last Monday on a magic carpet—a family heirloom, apparently, even though it’s illegal to distribute new ones. He was so delighted with the old place, even though it badly needs fixing up, that he made a deal with the Minister immediately. You know that the house has been in the Ministry’s hands since Bathilda’s passing. The Ministry has had no idea what to do with it, so they are greatly relieved. The new family is moving in by the end of the month, and their house elves will be in the house by the end of next week.” 

“Who’s the rich bloke?” Ron asked through a mouthful of roast beef. 

Molly paused dramatically. “Draco Malfoy.”

~~

By the war’s conclusion, Severus Snape had laid most of his ghosts to rest, most notably that of one Lily Evans Potter. However, one relatively recent addition continued to haunt him. On the same autumn night in a quiet Parisian apartment, that unrelenting ghost loomed out of the darkness. 

“It should have been you, Severus,” Lucius Malfoy’s shade, even paler in the afterlife than the living man had been, murmured in his ear. “You know it should have been you.” The ghost silently pulled aside the high collar that made him look like a vicar, revealing two jagged gaping wounds and a dress shirt marred by silvery blood. Severus jerked awake. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, shattered by the dream Lucius’s verisimilitude. “It should have been me.” 

“Uncle?” Draco Malfoy peered at Severus in the darkness. Draco was perched on the window seat in the one-bedroom apartment, staring out into the night at the cobblestones below. The moonlight filtered onto Draco; he could have been mistaken for his father’s ghost. Severus closed his eyes. 

“Hmph,” he grunted. 

“He didn’t hate you, you know,” Draco informed him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“That it wasn’t,” piped a fluty voice somewhere in the darkness. “It was mine.” 

Three years earlier, on the night of the Final Battle:  
_Tom Riddle—at that time known to one and all as the dark lord Voldemort—paced the floor of the Shrieking Shack on the outskirts of Hogsmeade village. The clamor of shouted spells, the heavy steps of giants and centaur herds and werewolf packs, and the groans of the wounded and dying rent the air and set the ground thrumming at the pace of Narcissa Malfoy’s heart. The Dark Lord looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy’s entry._

_“I see you’ve made it at last,” Voldemort said silkily._

_“Good evening, my lord,” Narcissa managed bravely. Lucius remained silent at her side. Nagini, the Dark Lord’s giant snake, frolicked nearby inside a massive cage. Narcissa resolutely kept the serpent out of her field of vision._

_“I’m sure you have noticed that the battle to end all battles has begun,” Voldemort said. “Your son is already fighting bravely for our side up at the castle.”_

_Outwardly as composed as ever, Narcissa could feel her insides shrivel with the force of her terror. She did not care what happened to her as a result of this battle, but her son was a different matter. After all that she had set in motion to ensure his safety, from keeping him close at Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang to exacting an Unbreakable Vow from Severus Snape, Draco could not die now._

_“I will need you two to join the fight at Hogwarts,” Voldemort said calmly._

_“Of course, my lord,” Lucius responded smoothly. Almost imperceptibly, his stance relaxed. He and Narcissa would be able to look for their son and then, if all went well, flee the country. “We will go at once.”_

_“Oh, but wait, I nearly forgot,” Voldemort said in a lazy tone. “One last task before you leave.”_

_“Yes, my lord?”_

_“Find Severus Snape, and bring him here to me.” As an aside, he murmured, “Poor Severus. It cannot be helped.”_

_Narcissa’s body went into overdrive. Her wand arm began to tingle, as did her chest, and she suddenly found herself fighting for breath. She could not walk; Lucius half-dragged her out of the shack and unceremoniously deposited her on the ground a few yards away._

_“What is it, Cissy?” he whispered urgently. “We must find Draco. We can’t give up now.”_

_“Lucius,” she choked. He conjured up a Calming Draught from the depths of his Death Eater robes, and she chugged it down gratefully. Her heart still felt like it was on the verge of exploding, but at least she could breathe._

_“Come along, Cissy!” Lucius begged. He wrapped his cloak around her shoulders and Apparated them onto Hogwarts’ grounds. With Headmaster Snape’s flight from the school, the anti-Apparation wards had dropped._

_“Stop a moment, Lucius,” Narcissa whispered. He paused and looked at her, his expression slightly lost. She thought he looked like a young man in that moment, the rather insecure rich boy to whom she had tied her hopes and dreams so many years before. “Lucius, we cannot send Severus to him.”_

_“We don’t have time for this, Cissy,” Lucius said sharply. Snape was irrelevant in the face of his desire to find Draco._

_Narcissa’s breathing faltered again. “If we send Severus to him, then I will die, just as surely as Draco will die if we don’t get him out of the castle.”_

_“What are you talking about?” Lucius glared at her, as if he could drive away this foolishness with one snooty look._

_“I-I made a v-vow, an Unbreakable Vow,” she moaned, shaking again. “So that Severus would keep Draco safe. When Severus killed Dumbledore last year, he fulfilled the vow, but he was too thorough. Now I owe a life debt to him.”_

_“Cissy!” Lucius exploded. “What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?”_

_“The s-same th-thing that is driving us to grab Draco and move off the grid!” Her teeth began to chatter, and she fell to the ground, convulsing._

_“S-Sev is going … die in there,” she bit out between convulsions. “Don’t … let … him! Or … I will die, too.”_

_Lucius cursed and fell to her side. “Don’t leave me, Cissy. I’ll do whatever you say.”_

~ ~

Severus recalled what happened next. He intercepted Lucius’s patronus, and an invisible scuffle nearby led him to believe that someone in the Order had overheard as well.

“Severus, my friend,” Lucius’s voice rasped in a rougher tone than usual. “Please meet me in the cave near the Shrieking Shack as soon as possible. Our lord would like a word.”

Severus cursed silently to himself. He still had not conveyed certain pertinent information to Harry Potter, and it was unlikely that he would manage the feat in the midst of the battle brewing in the castle. But the Dark Lord could not be put off. Severus took off at a run, propelling himself into the air like a Muggle air jet. Flying: the sole perk that being Voldemort’s right-hand man had earned him. He amused himself for a second by cartwheeling through the air, remembering the Catherine wheels that the Weasley twins had dreamed up to infuriate Umbridge. All told, he had rather enjoyed that year. It certainly beat the following year’s highlight of killing his mentor and being thought a heartless murderer by all whom he respected. 

Touching down behind the shack, where he had nearly died in his fifth year when he had followed the Marauders on a full-moon night, Severus flung up his Occlumency shields. Whatever the Dark Lord had in store for him, it could not possibly be worse than being attacked by a fully-fledged werewolf. All the same, it would not do to put the idea of a werewolf attack into the Dark Lord’s head if he were to attempt a _Legilimens._

“Severus.” Lucius materialized from the shadows. He stood, erect and regal, like the proud man, so full of promise, he had once been. So enticing to a lonely boy whose only true friend had deserted him. 

“Lucius.” The two men drew nearer to each other. Up close, Lucius looked as pale as death. Severus had the decency to look concerned. “Pull yourself together, man.”

“Severus.” Lucius withdrew a shaking hand from his robes. He unclenched his fingers, and Severus had a brief glimpse of a pair of vials, their contents a distinctive sludge. 

“Lucius, what—Merlin, what are you doing?” Severus murmured as the other man suddenly yanked on Severus’s well-oiled black hair, freeing a fistful of black strands. Lucius pulled the same move on his own silky blond mane. 

“Severus,” Lucius said urgently. “Narcissa is hiding at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Whatever you do, do not play the hero and ruin everything by following me into the shack. Please, go to her and help her find Draco. This is the last thing I will ever ask of you. Thank you for everything, my friend.” 

Severus felt like he was having some kind of bizarre out-of-body experience, a feeling that was only compounded when Lucius dropped Severus’s hairs into one of the vials and downed the concoction. A moment later, he was staring straight into his own, Polyjuiced eyes. Lucius quickly dropped his blonde hairs into the other vial and handed it with trembling fingers to Severus. 

“Drink it quickly, and go! Take Narcissa and Draco and go, as far away as you can. Don’t return until it is safe.”

Severus was dumbfounded. He had no intention of leaving until he had given Potter the necessary information, but he knew that Lucius had just granted him the only out he had ever had in his life. Even working for Dumbledore had not been a safe option; he had to risk his life on a daily basis in his capacity as a spy for the side of the Light. Perhaps, once he was safely in hiding, he could find a way to communicate with Potter.

“Did Narcissa put you up to this?” 

“There is no time to explain.” Lucius looked squarely into Severus’s eyes. “I am doing my best by my family, and that means I must do my best by you.” 

Severus read the other man’s honesty and made a snap decision. “All right. Just in case, keep a copy of these with you,” he muttered, withdrawing a long, silvery strand from his temple and depositing it into his empty Polyjuice vial. “Once you’re done in there, Potter will probably try to hunt you—me—down. Don’t fight him. He must have these memories. It is the only way.”

The two men exchanged a long look, each taking a final measure of his old friend. “Good luck,” they said, almost simultaneously. Severus dropped into the shadows from whence Lucius had come, watching compassionately as Lucius squared his shoulders, planted Severus’s trademark sneer on his face, and headed inside the shack to meet the fate intended for Severus. 

~~

Hermione woke up in a cold sweat, a familiar nightmare replaying in her half-drowsed mind. 

_“Nagini, kill.”_

_“Look … at … me.” Hesitatingly, she proffered the professor a vial, but he was already gesturing to one in the pocket of his robes, right on top of his heart. Blood pooled onto the dusty floor, dripping all too hastily from the gaping wounds on the side of his neck. Hermione was reminded of the first words she had ever heard from the dying professor’s lips._

_“I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death …”_

But you didn’t teach us! 

Sitting upright in her bed, she sobbed.


	2. Making Sport For Our Neighbors ... And Laughing at Them In Our Turn

“Arthur, dear, don’t you think it would be nice for you to see Draco now that he is all settled?” Molly mused, five Sunday suppers later.

Arthur looked taken aback. 

“Oh no, I’m sure he wouldn’t expect a visit from me. In any case, I’m sure he’d much rather see you and the boys. After all, he did go to school with most of them.” 

“But Arthur, you must go! Only think what good it would do for relations between the old pureblood families like the Malfoys and the more progressive families like ours. The Lovegoods are determined to go for that very reason. You know that they generally don’t visit newcomers. And I’m certain that the Minister would like it.”

Ron snorted. “Looking to the Lovegoods for role models, are we? It’s a sad day.” 

“None of your cheek, Ronald Bilius Weasley,” Molly sniffed. “Luna Lovegood is a dear girl. Arthur, you take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my anxiety.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur said briskly. “Your anxiety has been my old friend for the past twenty years at least.” 

Amid the general chuckles, Molly huffed, “Nobody respects me in this house.” Glancing around the table, Molly noted Hermione’s brand-new robes. They were a lovely forest green, which combined with Hermione’s usual untamed mane to give her the appearance of a wood nymph. 

“Those Slytherin green robes are beautiful, Hermione. The Malfoys would like them, I’m sure of it,” Molly said. “But we won’t ever know for certain, since Arthur won’t get over his silly rivalry with Lucius Malfoy so that we can visit.”

“Mum, you just want to see what Malfoy’s done with the old Bagshot manor!” George exclaimed. Angelina Johnson, George’s latest flame, giggled and nodded knowingly from her vantage point beside him. 

“We can always find out how they feel about my robes at the Ministry ball,” Hermione pointed out. “Perhaps the Lovegoods could reintroduce us to the Malfoys there.” Ron and Harry sniggered. 

“Xenophilius Lovegood would not think to do any such thing,” Molly avowed. “He would selfishly keep the Malfoys at his side for the whole evening, filling their heads with the latest nonsense from _The Quibbler.”_

“And you wouldn’t attempt to keep poor little Narcissa Malfoy at your side, peppering her with questions about her redesign of the Bagshot ancestral home?” George asked pointedly. 

“Have a little compassion for my anxiety, George.” 

“When is the next Ministry event anyway, Hermione?” asked Harry. 

“The Saturday after next is the war memorial ball,” Hermione sighed. “All the war heroes will be pressured to attend.”

“That is very soon,” Mrs. Weasley said in satisfaction. “Xenophilius can’t possibly have time to see the Malfoys before then. _The Quibbler_ prints next weekend, and it will eat up his free time.”

“Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of Xenophilius, and reintroduce Draco to _him.”_

“How on earth will I do that, Arthur? Malfoys and Lovegoods! I’m sick to death of Malfoys and Lovegoods.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Arthur said solemnly. “If I’d known you were sick of Draco, I certainly wouldn’t have visited him last Friday. It’s bad luck, but we can’t escape the renewed acquaintance now.” 

There was uproar at the table. Molly looked misty-eyed and, after a second of processing the news, planted a wet kiss on her husband’s cheek. Everyone present knew of Arthur’s longstanding hatred of Lucius Malfoy, and they were impressed to see that Arthur had decided to extend the proverbial olive branch. Arthur chuckled, looking very pleased with himself. 

“We’ll chat with them at the ball,” Molly said in satisfaction. “I’m sure that the Minister will invite them as a goodwill gesture. And then Narcissa might invite us over for a cuppa.”

“Did we ever figure out why Dawlish told Mum about the Malfoys in the first place?” Ron muttered to Harry. Harry shrugged. It was Narcissa Malfoy who had saved his life during the Final Battle by not revealing him to Voldemort at a crucial juncture. Gone were the days when Harry would jump without provocation to any unsavory conclusions regarding the Malfoy family. 

On Harry’s other side, Andromeda Tonks, nee Black, looked thoughtful. She had almost forgotten that Teddy was not the only family left to her in the world. There once was a time when Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, was a most cherished sister. 

Hermione, for her part, was conflicted. On the one hand, her worst war injuries had been incurred at Malfoy Manor, and she was slightly afraid that seeing the Malfoys again would bring back those memories in full force. Yet she had to admit that she was curious to see how the intervening years had treated Draco, and she wanted to know why the Malfoys had chosen to return at this time, and to Godric’s Hollow, the seat of their rival Hogwarts house, no less. Something did not sit quite right with her about the whole affair, and the feeling couldn’t be chalked down simply to the Minister’s mysterious acquaintance with Mrs. Weasley. 

~~

“What is he like now, Luna?”

“What is who like, Harry?”

“Malfoy. Draco. That evil git.”

“Evil git? I always thought that was your nickname for Professor Snape.”

“Him, too. No, I take that back. Snape was a good man.”

“And so is Draco. He isn’t surrounded by nearly so many nargles anymore.”

“A glowing compliment, I’m sure.”

~~

“So the Malfoys really will be at the ball, Luna?”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley. They are very excited, but not nearly as much as Father is. He says it will be a great opportunity to watch the Minister for evidence of his collusion with the Rotfang Conspiracy.” 

“I’m sure it will be, dear.”

“Hey, Luna! Wasn’t Fudge supposed to be in that conspiracy, too? How do I join?”

“George, if you dare join this Rotfang club, I will floo you directly to Hermione’s parents for a thorough Muggle teeth cleaning. And a tooth-straightening procedure as well. Brackets or something, I believe they’re called. Hermione tells me they are quite painful.” 

“Luna, love, forget I ever said anything.” 

~~

“Godric’s Hollow!” Molly reflected dreamily to her husband the day before the ball. “Only the cream of wizarding society lives there. Harry is thinking of moving there one day, isn’t he? Just think, my Ginny, settled in Godric’s Hollow!”

“You presume too much, Molly,” Arthur reproved. “Harry and Ginny are nowhere near ready for marriage. Ginny just started her career.” 

“Yes, but it’s never too early to start thinking of the future,” Molly retorted. 

Arthur attempted to divert the conversation. 

“Draco stopped in to chat at the office today.”

“Did he, now? How polite of him! What did he say?”

“Nothing much, just an apology for not yet returning my visit. His household has been busy settling in, and it sounds like he already has a guest.”

“A guest?”

“Well, he mentioned that he had to do up one of the guest rooms in a hurry.”

“I wonder who it could be! I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow.” 

~~

That night, the guest in question tossed and turned on the overly firm new mattress that Draco had just installed. 

“You should have been in my place,” the ghost repeated. Despite the early November chill, sweat poured, hot and uncomfortable, down Severus’s back. 

“You didn’t explain what was going on!” Severus cried. His knee jerked involuntarily, and he awakened. 

“This needs to end,” he growled to himself once he became aware of his surroundings. It was two in the morning by his wand. A knock on the door startled him.

“Severus?” Narcissa peeped into the grand guest room. She looked very small next to the massive, gilt-adorned bureau. 

“Yes, Cissy?” he sighed. 

“I couldn’t sleep, either,” she explained. She padded over to the four-poster bed. “May I join you?” 

Severus felt uncomfortable but was not sure how to refuse. “It’s your house.”

“Draco’s, really.” Narcissa slid under the covers and inched closer to Severus. He fancied he could feel her body heat radiating towards him. “There, I feel much safer.”

“How can you? I am the reason your husband is not alive,” Severus said brutally, hoping she would take the hint and leave him alone. Narcissa’s timid advances over the past two years had complicated an already messy situation. He was not sure if she was genuinely attracted to him or just lonely. He was not sure he was capable of handling a relationship, in either scenario. It made for an awkward situation on both ends.

“Let’s not go over this again,” Narcissa murmured. “It’s a strange house, but you are familiar. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Fine,” he said shortly. He turned on his side, facing away from her. She continued as though he had not rebuffed her so gracelessly. 

“I’m simply thrilled that you’re coming out in the open tomorrow night, Severus. It is so brave of you. I’m sure everyone will be most welcoming. You’re considered a hero, you know. Draco told me. He went to the Ministry the other day to make some discreet inquiries. You stand to gain quite a bit of money along with the Order of Merlin, First Class.” 

“Enlightening as this pillow talk has been, I must say that I was sleeping perfectly well before, and I’d like to return to that blissful state as soon as possible,” Severus drawled. 

“Good night, dear. You really are a brave man, you know.”

“I’d like to hear Andromeda Tonks’s views on the subject tomorrow night. Wouldn’t you?” And with that scathing reply, Severus fell silent for the rest of the night, while Narcissa dreamt of the three sisters Black and the men who had torn them apart. 

~~

In anticipation of greeting the Malfoys from their prudent but self-imposed exile, the rest of the ball’s invitees were already present when the Malfoy party entered the Ministry’s grand ballroom. _Conveniently located just a few doors down from Courtroom Ten should the Minister decide to try me for my sins,_ Severus thought with a barely disguised shiver. Narcissa latched onto Severus’s arm with one gloved hand and her son’s elbow with the other, and smiled benevolently at the crowd. Severus had forgotten just how high Narcissa Malfoy’s pureblood nose could lift in public.

If Narcissa were expecting to be the focal point of the ball, she would be sorely disappointed. The crowd buzzed with shock. _Snape?! Is that Severus Snape? The double spy? Dumbledore’s murderer? Harry Potter’s personal hero?_

Something in Hermione’s heart loosened for the first time in three years as she gazed, speechless, at Severus’s long, lean figure at the top of the room. Next to her, Harry started. 

“Luna didn’t mention Snape was alive!” he hissed. 

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Hermione said automatically. Harry glanced sideways at her and suddenly guffawed. His chuckles initiated a merry feedback loop; Ginny, on Harry’s arm, and Hermione began to laugh hysterically, and from across the room, Luna joined in. 

“Mr. Snape will do,” Draco murmured. He and his tiny entourage had paused directly in front of Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. “He isn’t our teacher anymore.”

“Malfoy.” Harry inclined his head, sizing up the new arrivals. “Mrs. Malfoy, Prof-Mr. Snape. How do you do?”

“Surprisingly well, considering,” Draco replied. He eyed Harry thoughtfully and, to Hermione’s confusion, with some sort of emotion that he was struggling to hide. _Interesting,_ she reflected. “Granger. She-Weasel. You two are all grown up.”

“I see you haven’t grown up at all,” Ginny retorted. She looked distinctly ill at ease in the Malfoys’ company. “Where’s your father? Now that I’m all grown up, as you say, I’d like to hex him properly for giving me that awful diary.”

Draco became suddenly awkward. “My father, well—”

“He passed away shortly after the end of the war,” Narcissa interjected. She had gone suddenly pale, sadness clouding her aristocratic features. “Thankfully, Severus was there to take care of us in Lucius’s place.” 

“Neither of you needed minding,” Severus said briskly. His sneer was as potent as ever it was, Hermione thought rather fondly. And his accent had a trace of the North in it that she did not remember from her school days, although his voice was as dark and smooth and entrancing— _entrancing?_ —as always. 

“Sir,” Harry interrupted eagerly. “If you don’t mind my asking, how—”

“Oh, but I do mind. I have no desire to answer any personal questions tonight, Potter. I am,” here Severus paused, as though steeling himself to do something he would much rather not, “grateful for your vindication of my character and your defeat of the Dark Lord. But there is no magic on earth that would compel me to address any—intrusive—concerns of yours.” And with that, Severus turned on his heel and marched off with Narcissa, although not without casting an appraising glance at Hermione and Ginny. Hermione could not help but feel that she had been assessed and found wanting, just as she had all those times Professor Snape had returned her Potions assignments. 

“Hippogriffs never change their spots,” Ginny muttered, but she was grinning. It was comforting to know that the war had not beaten the snark out of Severus Snape. On the other side of the room, Mrs. Weasley was tearfully hugging an extremely discomfited, rigid Severus two-thirds of the way down his person. 

~~

Three hours later, Severus was downing his third pint of something frothy and electric blue, having danced only twice: once with Narcissa, and once with an alternately scolding and sobbing Minerva McGonagall. He refused to talk to anyone else in the room, even walking away from Minister Dawlish when the poor old auror was in effusive midsentence. The room’s initial excitement over his apparent resurrection was beginning to ebb in direct proportion to the gradual increase in his angst.

“As rude as ever,” Hermione overheard Parvati Patil sniff. Severus had unapologetically rebuffed Parvati’s brave attempt to coerce him into a dance. “He thinks he’s too good for the likes of us.”

Hermione had found Severus’s antics quite amusing. She always felt out of place at these events, so she sat at a back table with Luna and watched the dancing. She wished she’d thought to bring her copy of the latest edition of _Transfiguration Today._ Instead, she patiently fielded Luna’s half drunken, half earnest speculation regarding the possible existence of an inhumane magical menagerie deep within the Ministry’s bowels.

Draco, enjoying the high-profile event, dragged Severus onto the dance floor in front of Luna and Hermione. “Come, uncle, I hate to see you patrolling the perimeter of the dance floor in that stupid manner. You should dance!”

“I certainly shall not.” Severus pulled his arm out of Draco’s grasp. “You know how I detest it. And at an event like this, it would be insupportable. Your mother is dancing at the moment, and there isn’t another woman here whom it would not be a punishable offense for me to dance with.” 

Draco laughed. “You’re too picky for words. There are many beautiful women here tonight, my mother included.”

“What would you know about beautiful women?” Severus eyed his godson quizzically. Draco flushed. 

“Granger’s right behind you, and she’s wearing our old house colors,” Draco said. “She might do for you.”

Severus spun around and looked directly into Hermione’s eyes. Then, deliberately turning his back to her, he said silkily, “Miss Granger looks—tolerable—tonight, but she isn’t pretty enough to tempt me—or any other men, for that matter. She’s been sitting out the entire ball.”

Hermione’s breath quickened, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Luna, placid as ever, said, “I think Professor Snape has found Draco’s old nargles.” She patted Hermione’s arm. “It will be awfully difficult to remove the infestation.”

Hermione burst out laughing, and all was well. 

~~

The next morning’s _Daily Prophet_ declared the ball to be a resounding success, thanks primarily to the gallant reconciliation between young Messrs. Malfoy and Potter. Mrs. Weasley agreed with the paper’s assessment. Brandishing the front page, which was emblazoned with a photograph spread featuring a scowling Severus Snape and several candids of Draco and Harry chatting, she chattered excitedly at the breakfast table about how Draco had danced with Ginny twice, and had spoken warmly of Arthur to the Minister. Percy had heard himself complimented in front of Narcissa as an up-and-coming young bureaucrat, and Ron and George had danced nonstop for the entirety of the night. Arthur, who had left the assembly early in order to take care of some paperwork, was convincing in his attempts to show interest in the ball’s happenings. 

“Oh, Arthur, it was wonderful!” Molly exclaimed. “I wish you had stayed. Ginny was the belle of the ball; everyone mentioned it. I’m sure Draco thought she was the most beautiful girl in the room. He kept her in his line of vision all night. Poor Harry must have been quite jealous. Of course, he danced with Luna Lovegood once, and his mother, and Professor McGonagall, but Ginny was singled out.” 

“The man must have downed a maximum-strength Strengthening Solution,” Arthur said. “I cannot keep his partners straight. He would have been better served if he had sprained his ankle during the first song.”

“Hermione was there and would have healed it in an instant,” Molly said dismissively. “You must admit, he is so changed, so polite and charming. And Narcissa looked lovely. Her dress robes magically altered at the top of every hour, you know. I liked her ten o’clock best. It had this delicate silver lace on top of—”

Ron and George, who had decided to spend the night at their parents’ house, broke out in protest of any further description of ladies’ robes. Molly was not deterred from speech for long. 

“Severus Snape alive, Arthur! I never thought I’d see the day,” Mrs. Weasley gushed. “He hasn’t changed a bit. Just a tad healthier looking.” 

Ron scoffed. “Old Snapey’s as greasy a git as ever, innit, George?”

“He was awfully rude about Hermione’s looks, and to her face, too!” Ginny said, sliding into a seat across from George. 

“That was low, even for Snape,” George replied with a frown. “Hermione looked bloody good in those robes.” 

Ron was silent. Molly glanced quickly at him and shook her head. Ron had never quite gotten over his breakup with Hermione, even though it was clear that they had wanted different things in life and, more pressingly, rarely saw eye to eye. Molly wondered from time to time whether Hermione’s continued presence at Sunday night dinner was exacerbating the problem, but she did not have the heart to withdraw Hermione’s standing invitation. The poor girl’s parents had chosen to retire in Australia, and Hermione would be quite alone in England without the Weasleys. 

“Severus ought to be more concerned with his own looks, if you ask me,” she said. “The man needs some more weight on his bones, and that’s a fact.” 

“Just don’t be the person who fattens him up, Mum,” Ron shuddered. “The last thing we need is Snape at family dinner.” 

He didn’t fail to notice the excited spark that lit in Molly’s eyes. 

“Oh, Ron, what a lovely idea! And here I was thinking that you didn’t like the poor professor.”

“I’ve created a monster,” Ron moaned.

“Well, if he gets too fat, we can always pawn Snape off on Hagrid. It’s been a while since he’s had a misunderstood creature to love,” George said philosophically. 

~~

Monday was a rare in-office day for Harry. He stopped by Hermione’s department to pick her up for a quick lunch at the drab Muggle sports pub across the street. It was their favored spot to avoid the overly adoring wizarding public. Harry was the first to broach the subject of the ball.

“Malfoy’s changed for the better,” Harry said abruptly, causing Hermione to choke on a soggy asparagus spear. “He’s finally got some common sense. And he’s actually funny when he wants to be. Everyone was prepared to hate him because of the Death Eater connection, but he handled the situation perfectly. He really played up the redemption factor.”

“Merlin above, did the one and only Harry Potter just say that he _approves_ of Draco Malfoy?” Hermione teased. “I never thought I’d live to see the day. I can die happy.” 

“Ha ha,” Harry said, not even slightly amused. “The only thing I didn’t like was how often he asked Ginny to dance. I wasn’t aware that redheads were his type.”

“I’m not sure that redheads are his type, actually,” Hermione replied, brows creased in thought. “That was rather odd of him. It’s almost like he was doing it just to annoy you, like in the old days.” 

“You think?”

“Well, I can’t think of any other reason. He was probably trying to reestablish the old order of things to put you at ease. And he also knew you were the man of the hour, Professor Snape notwithstanding. It’s no wonder he wanted to be noticed by you, though he did it in a weird, twisted sort of way. It was a very Slytherin maneuver. And it looks like it succeeded.”

“Hermione!”

“You are very easily manipulated sometimes, Harry,” she sighed. “You take things as they come, no questions asked. I don’t know how you go about your auror business so well and yet remain so blind to other people’s nonsense.” 

“Oh, ye of little faith! I still think that Malfoy has changed somehow. I can feel it in my bones.”

Hermione listened in silence but remained skeptical. The Malfoys’ behavior at the ball had been decidedly premeditated in such a manner as to please the principals while reasserting their social superiority over the less prominent in wizarding society. Narcissa could be polite, kind even—when she so chose—but she was as proud and vain as ever. The Malfoys had always depended on their physical beauty, immense fortune, and connections to support their sense of entitlement. Now that the family’s respectability was in question, they probably knew that they would need to work on improving their connections more than ever before. Hermione was convinced that this imperative had driven Draco to purchase a home in Godric’s Hollow, of all places. Only Merlin knew how long he would last there in the lions’ den. She voiced this concern to Harry.

“He’ll probably be there awhile, or at least until he settles down with someone,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure if Narcissa would stay with him once he’s married, or if the future Mrs. Malfoy would approve of living in Godric’s Hollow.”

“Where else would Narcissa go?” Hermione asked reasonably. “She doesn’t have anyone else in the world.”

“It looks like she might have Snape,” Harry chuckled. “I reckon they looked cozy at the ball.”

“Professor Snape? Cozy?” Hermione said incredulously. “The man is too aloof, even for the likes of Narcissa Malfoy. I wonder how Draco puts up with him.”

“I’ve never heard you speak ill of a teacher, Hermione,” Harry teased. “You know that we all think you looked more than ‘tolerable’ that night, don’t you?”

“I don’t care what Severus Snape thinks I look like,” Hermione scoffed. “Oi, I need to be back at the office.”

“Hermione Granger doesn’t care what a teacher thinks of her? The world must be ending,” Harry joked as he trailed after Hermione into the chilly November afternoon. 

~~

Draco covertly examined his mother over the top of his copy of _The Daily Prophet._ He was thinking about the ball—specifically, about one particular attendee. He scanned the photograph spread from the ball, briefly considering tearing out that page and keeping it for his personal records. But then, he mused, if Uncle Severus found it, he—Draco—would never live it down. 

“The Weasleys were quite sweet to us, weren’t they, Draco?” Narcissa asked. 

Draco reluctantly put down the newspaper. “Yes, they were.”

“Ginny Weasley is very good-looking, isn’t she? They say she’s going to marry Harry Potter.”

Draco did not deign to respond.

“You danced with her several times, I think. Didn’t you, dear?” Narcissa coaxed. 

“Desist with this inane line of questioning, Madam,” Severus said blandly. He buttered a piece of toast. “It won’t lead you anywhere that will please you.”

“Whatever do you mean, Severus?”

Draco shot his godfather a pleading look. Severus took pity on the boy and kept his silence. 

“Uncle’s just being contrary, mother,” Draco complained. 

“Well, I for one would like to get to know the Weasleys better, especially Ginevra,” Narcissa said. 

Severus rolled his eyes and grabbed the newspaper from Draco’s left. “By Nicholas Flamel’s flaming robes, where did they get these pictures of me?”

“At the ball, Uncle. Where else?” Draco said saucily. Severus shot him a glare; unfortunately for him, his most forbidding looks had long since ceased to frighten the Malfoy heir.


	3. My Mistress' Eyes

Andromeda Tonks shifted the toddler on her hip and stared at the lion-shaped doorknocker. Teddy begged to play with the lion head, which growled menacingly when Teddy poked its eye. The little boy drew back in alarm and began to sob.

“What’s that noise?” said a cool voice on the opposite side of the door. “Nori, see who it is.”

 _Her voice is full of money,_ Andromeda thought, recalling a line from an old Muggle novel that her husband Ted had read to her long ago. They had had a habit of reading aloud to each other every night, Ted preferring to recite from classic Muggle literature while Andromeda picked the most pureblood authors out of spite. Secretly, she had come around to Ted’s point of view. These days, she couldn’t look at a volume of Yeats’ poetry without crying, so she gifted her sizeable collection of Muggle books to Hermione, who could appreciate them. 

Wizened little Nori, the Malfoys’ head house elf, appeared with a crack! on the front stoop. Surprised, Teddy abruptly stopped crying. 

“You is being related to Mistress Malfoy?” Nori questioned, recognizing the all-too-obvious Black family cheekbones and severe countenance. Resting bitch face, Ted had called it. He used to get a kick out of seeing the look on Andromeda, for no discernible reason.

“Yes,” Andromeda said simply. She was not sure how—or even if—Narcissa would refer to her to her staff, so she refrained from committing to anything. 

To her astonishment, Nori clapped her tiny hands and jumped up and down. “Oh, Nori is so pleased! Mistress Malfoy is being ever so lonely since she is living in Godric’s Hollow!”

“May I pay her a visit, Nori? Is Draco in?”

“Yes, yes. Master Draco is not being here, no, nor the potions master.” 

Andromeda followed the little elf into the grand entryway, mouth agape. She had not lived in such luxury since her marriage to Ted, which had resulted in her disownment from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Narcissa’s postwar style was a slightly bizarre combination of modern, low-rise leather furniture and Victorian wall décor. Pale, blonde Malfoy ancestors in bejeweled dress robes sniffed at her from their portrait frames. A sweeping grand staircase bifurcated the imposing atrium. 

“Who is my visitor, Nori?” Narcissa asked, rising from a low settee. She was the very picture of elegance, pearls dripping from her neck and ears onto a lush, well-tailored set of purple robes. She looked Andromeda up and down. It was all too clear that the estranged sisters needed no introduction. A long pause followed, Nori looking anxiously between the mismatched pair. 

“Cissy,” Andromeda finally breathed. Narcissa stiffened at the overfamiliar nickname.

“Mrs. Tonks,” she said formally. “Welcome to my son’s home.”

“Yours too, I am sure,” Andromeda said awkwardly. After a beat, Narcissa gestured to the settee.

“Please, sit.”

Andromeda perched on the edge of the settee. “How have you been, Cissy?”

“I never know how to answer that question,” Narcissa fretted. “Do you mean how have I been today? After the war? Over the past twenty-odd years?”

“Let’s start with today,” Andromeda coaxed. “We have all the time in the world to become reacquainted.”

“We haven’t spoken in twenty years, Andy,” Narcissa said. “Why strike up an acquaintance after all this time?”

“You are the only person I have left in this world, apart from Teddy,” Andromeda responded. “And whether or not you believe me, I have always only wished the best for you. You are my sister.”

“And Bella?” Narcissa responded cruelly. “And our parents? Did you always wish them well, too?”

But Andromeda paid these last comments no mind. It had occurred to her that in the process of working up the courage to talk to Narcissa, Teddy had disappeared.

“Teddy!” she gasped, clutching at her sister’s forearm. “Where is he? He was just here!”

“Teddy?” Narcissa questioned. 

“My grandson, Nymphadora’s only child,” Andromeda moaned. “Where is he? I can’t lose him, Cissy!”

Narcissa sprang into action. “That was Teddy crying outside, wasn’t it? He can’t have gone far.” She ran to the door, Andromeda at her heels. 

In the garden, Teddy had discovered Nori’s grandson Dumby—named for the great Albus Dumbledore—and was taking great delight in squeezing the wee elf half to death. 

“Baby elf! Baby elf!” he cheered.

“Teddy!” Andromeda scooped Teddy up, and Narcissa gingerly extricated the distressed Dumby from his clutches. “Don’t ever leave me like that again, do you hear me?”

“I sorry, Granny,” Teddy apologized, hugging her neck. “Love you, Granny.” 

“Love you, darling,” she whispered into his hair. 

Narcissa could not help tearing up. Lonely as she was, she longed for a grandchild to spoil, but Draco showed no inclination to settle down any time soon. Teddy peered curiously at this strange woman who looked very much like his grandmother, only with ice-blonde hair instead of graying brown. 

“Granny?” he asked, changing his hair color to mimic Narcissa’s. Narcissa smiled. 

“I am not your Granny, Teddy,” she said. “But I would like to be another granny to you, if your granny will let me.”

Andromeda sensed Narcissa’s sincerity and nodded. “Teddy, this is your granny Cissy.”

“Cissy,” Teddy proclaimed and opened his arms. Narcissa eagerly lifted the child into her own arms, but it proved that he had been gesturing to Dumby. “Cissy, I want baby elf!” 

~~

“Harry is a great help with Teddy,” Andromeda explained over tea and Teddy’s favorite arrowroot biscuits. “He keeps him almost every weekend so that I can get some time to myself. But I am always ready to have Teddy back on Monday morning; I miss him so terribly after only a few days on my own.”

“He is a dear little thing,” Narcissa said warmly. Teddy was sitting in her lap and playing with an old Gobstones set of Draco’s. He enjoyed squirting the stones at Nori, who watched him adoringly as she rocked Dumby in a corner of the drawing room. 

“Speaking of Harry Potter,” Narcissa began, “are he and Ginevra Weasley still an item? She spent more time on other men’s arms the other night than on his.” 

“They have been dating since their school days, but it isn’t very serious, I believe.” Andromeda frowned. “Ginny is putting her love life on hold at the moment because of her commitment to the Harpies. Harry doesn’t seem to mind. I’m a little surprised by how well he’s been taking it, to be honest.”

“Why?” Narcissa asked interestedly. 

“Well, Harry tends to cling to any affection he can get. Look at how he’s at the Weasleys every weekend. It probably has to do with growing up as an orphan.” Suddenly overcome with emotion, Andromeda fell silent, gazing lovingly at her own orphaned little chap. 

“I am told she was very brave, your daughter,” Narcissa said hesitantly. 

“Nymphadora? Yes, and as stubborn as I was,” Andromeda sighed.

“Was? Still are, I would think,” Narcissa smiled. 

“Look who’s talking,” Andromeda retorted. 

“If I were as stubborn as you were by marrying that Tonks, I would never have let Lucius fall in with the Death Eaters,” Narcissa said abruptly. “He went in for the prestige, at least at the beginning. The philosophy wasn’t so … extreme … at the outset. Even Severus joined. But I was always uneasy about it.”

“Were you?” Andromeda asked skeptically. A tense silence fell over the room, broken only by Teddy’s whooshing noises as he indulged in a fantasy revolving around flying a broom behind his aunt Ginny, whom he had watched in a Quidditch game the week before. 

“Ah, this must be the werewolf’s progeny,” Severus sneered as he and Draco walked into the room. Andromeda seized on the distraction, insensitive though it was. 

“Severus,” she said politely. 

“Mrs. Tonks,” he nodded as he settled into an armchair by the fire. 

“Andy, have you been introduced to my son, Draco? Draco, this is your aunt Andromeda,” Narcissa said. 

“Another aunt, eh? Here’s to hoping you’re a sight better than the other one.”

“Draco!” Narcissa admonished, ignoring Severus’s wry chuckle. 

“It’s good to meet you at last, Draco,” Andromeda said, approving of the young man’s unaffected cheer and grace of movement. 

“Would you mind terribly if I held my nephew or cousin or whatever he is to me?” Draco inquired politely. 

“Not at all! We are waiting for Harry to arrive from work, and then we’ll be off,” Andromeda said. 

“Potter?” 

“Yes; he takes Teddy off my hands whenever he has a light load at work.”

“How altruistic of Potter,” Severus drawled. “He never could resist an opportunity to show off his savior complex.” 

Teddy, dandling happily on his uncle/cousin’s arm, shouted, “Uncle Hawwy is a hewwo!” The room roared with laughter at the sight of Severus’s disgust. 

The floo fired to life. Harry’s head appeared among the green flames. “Andromeda, are you still here? Oh, hello, Mrs. Malfoy. May I enter?”

“Of course, Mr. Potter.”

“Harry, please,” he responded as he pulled himself out of the fireplace. Hermione suddenly popped out of the flames behind him. 

“And Miss Granger.”

“Where one of the Golden Trio goes, the rest must follow,” Severus quipped. Hermione glared at him. 

“I’m actually helping Harry with Teddy tonight, if you must know, sir,” she snapped.

“I was perfectly content with not knowing the reason for your visit, Miss Granger. Not all of us share your desire to ‘know it all.’”

“I’m flattered you remember my idiosyncrasies so well, sir,” Hermione said sweetly. “I remember yours, too. Indeed, I find I am unable to forget the way you billowed around the hallways of Hogwarts like a great bat.”

Everyone chortled. Severus regarded Hermione thoughtfully. “Tsk. I was certain that a lauded researcher like yourself would have found much more to observe in my person, but I suppose the reports of your scientific acumen have been as greatly exaggerated as the usual Prophet drivel.” 

“Not everything in the _Prophet_ is exaggerated. The size of your nose in that last photo spread comes to mind.”

Draco positively cried with laughter. The rest of the room seemed to be too afraid of Severus’s reaction to do anything.

“Do you know what they say about men with large noses, Granger?” Severus said, eyes glittering. Hermione averted her gaze. 

“Hermione is a top-notch researcher,” Harry interjected loyally, putting an end to the downward-spiraling volley. Severus was sorry: it was not often that he matched wits with anyone but Draco. However, he couldn’t help but appreciate the attention Hermione drew to her backside as she shook off the fireplace’s soot and flounced over to Teddy and Draco. 

Hermione conjured a positively ancient copy of _Noddy and His Car_ from her beaded bag and began to read aloud to Teddy, who abandoned Draco to crawl onto her lap. At a loss, Draco turned to Harry. Before long, the old enemies had struck up an amicable conversation about their Hogwarts days. 

Severus, who couldn’t settle to his reading and was just as easily bored by eavesdropping on the Malfoys’ separate conversations, found his attention drawn to the little domestic scene occurring between Hermione and Teddy. 

“Go, car, go!” Teddy yelled, stabbing his fingers at the pictures. 

“This is a Muggle story, Teddy,” Hermione said patiently. “The pictures don’t move.”

“Why not?”

“Because Muggle pictures don’t move.” 

“I don’t like Mug books!” 

Severus smirked. “I see that the werewolf’s son shows as little intellectual promise as his father did before him.” 

“He’s three!” Hermione shot back. “Honestly, don’t tell me you’re going to hold his parentage against him like you did to Harry. It’s not his fault that his father bullied you!”

Instinctively, she knew that she’d gone too far, but she had too much pride to backtrack. Severus’s eyes narrowed. 

“Remus Lupin tried to kill me in our fifth year,” he said coldly. 

“He wasn’t in control of himself—”

“Oh, that’s an excuse now, is it? Think of all the crimes in this world that would be excused if lack of self-control were accepted as a viable defense.”

“The circumstances were special in this case! Anyway, I don’t mean to defend Professor Lupin; I just think your anger is misdirected. And it’s been at least twenty years! Don’t you think it’s about time you let it go?”

“I have let it go, Miss Granger,” Severus said, looking suddenly tired. “I don’t make a habit of holding grudges against dead men. Quite the reverse, actually.” Hermione looked confused.

“Lupin is my surname,” Teddy said importantly. 

“It is, darling,” Hermione murmured. “And a fine surname it is, too.” 

“Remus Lupin died bravely, and Nymphadora was a brave woman,” Severus muttered, just loud enough for Hermione to hear. Her wounded feelings thawed slightly. 

“Yes, but you were the bravest of them all, sir,” she said softly. 

“Noddy! I want Noddy!” 

“Finish your book, Miss Granger,” Severus said. “It appears that the future of wizarding literacy rests on your narrow little shoulders.”

~~

“He’s insufferable!” Hermione fumed. Luna, who was helping Hermione mind Teddy for the weekend, giggled. 

“I’m guessing you don’t mean Draco,” Luna said.

“No, Professor Snape! I thought he might have mellowed now that he doesn’t have to spy on a sociopathic maniac, but he’s still so awful.”

“Well, he seemed to find you ‘tolerable’ the other night.”

“The only people he seems to actually find tolerable are the Malfoys. Well, they can have him. Proud, insufferable man!”

“If he is proud, he has good reason,” Luna said mildly. “He’s still young, and he’s moderately well off, from what Draco says. And after all he’s done for our world, he has a right to be proud.”

Hermione, chastened, murmured, “That’s very true. I think I’d have forgiven him by now if he had not insulted me.” 

“Well, my father always says that pride is the most common failing,” Luna piped. “He says human nature is positively riddled with it. If you wear the long-lost spectacles of Rowena Ravenclaw, you can actually see it, he says. But vanity looks different through them, since vanity relates to what we want others to think about us instead of what we think of ourselves.” 

“Rowena Ravenclaw never wore spectacles,” Hermione said exasperatedly. 

“Oh, but she did,” Luna said serenely. “They were lost, you see, so nobody realized she wore them.”

~~

Over the next few weeks, the paths of the Malfoy and Weasley extended households crossed with ever increasing frequency. Narcissa could be found at her sister’s cottage twice weekly for tea and bonding time with Teddy, and Draco often joined her there on Friday evenings. As Harry, occasionally accompanied by Ginny, usually stopped by on those nights to take Teddy to Grimmauld Place, he became better acquainted with the Malfoys. 

Hermione avoided these little gatherings with the primary aim of preventing another discouraging conversation with Professor Snape. She could not completely avoid the topic of the Malfoys, however, as Luna was uncharacteristically interested in their doings. 

“Draco has had a bit of a spring in his step lately,” she confided to Hermione. “It all started when Andromeda and Narcissa renewed their friendship. But that can’t be the reason for his happiness, can it?”

“Why not? Maybe it’s keeping Narcissa in a better mood. She’s probably staying out of his hair more than before.”

“There’s something going on there,” Luna declared. “Even I can see that.”

“Are you sure you haven’t been wearing Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost spectacles?”

“Very funny.” Luna paused. “Tell me again what Draco did that time you went with Harry to pick up Teddy.”

“Well, he was holding Teddy when we arrived. I had my spat with the dear professor and took charge of Teddy.”

“So what did Draco do?”

“I wasn’t paying much attention because of Teddy; you know how that boy needs to be watched at all times. But Draco and Harry started talking. They were actually polite to each other, I think.” 

“And they’ve been polite to each other for the past four Friday nights since?”

“Well, I assume so … Luna, what are you implying?”

“In four evenings, much can happen.”

“Luna, you are being purposely obscure!” Hermione cried. 

“I am not! I’m merely remembering how Moaning Myrtle once told me that she was fond of Draco because he would never take advantage of her.”

“That is completely irrelevant!”

“Is it?” 

“Luna, what are you implying?”

“Hermione,” Luna said in aggravation, “do you recall Draco Malfoy ever having a girlfriend in school? Pansy doesn’t count; she was dating all of Slytherin House at the same time, I believe.”

Hermione gaped for a second and then began laughing hysterically. “You are insane, Luna. Really and truly insane.” 

“Well,” said Luna, “I wish Draco the utmost success. I think he and Harry have a great chance for happiness. Familiarity breeds contempt, usually, but familiarity seems to be breeding something much better here.” 

Hermione shook her head and left Luna to her wild imaginings. 

~~

Over the next week, Hermione found to her frustration that she couldn’t quite shake Luna’s parting words from her head, so she made up her mind to be Harry’s plus one at the next Friday’s tete a tete. It transpired, however, that Ginny would be playing against the Chudley Cannons that day not far from Godric’s Hollow. The usual suspects decided to meet at the stadium instead. 

Hermione gloomily draped a frayed Cannons scarf, a vestige from her dating days with Ron, around her neck. “Sitting outside in early December, _honestly_ …” she cursed under her breath. 

“Hermione, are you ready?” Harry called from her sitting room. 

“Coming!” she called. She looked briefly in the mirror before reminding herself that no one in attendance would care what she looked like. It was one of the many advantages of not having a boyfriend. She sheathed her wand hurriedly in the holster hidden inside her voluminous winter cloak. 

Harry took one look at her getup and sighed, “It isn’t _that_ chilly, Hermione.”

“Oh, shut it.”

The friends stepped onto Hermione’s front stoop, Hermione clutching Harry’s arm. With a swish of their cloaks, they disappeared.

Luna greeted them upon their arrival, her face partially obscured by the enormous stuffed lion perched atop her head. 

“You do know this isn’t a Gryffindor versus Slytherin match, don’t you, Luna?” Hermione shook her head in amusement.

“Oh, I know. I just thought it might cheer Ginny up if she sees it from wherever she is on the pitch,” Luna grinned. 

“That’s the spirit, Luna,” Ron said as he Apparated into the clearing. “You forgot the added benefit of annoying the Malfoys and the greasy git.”

“I assure you, Mr. Weasley, that I left any ideas of house rivalry behind me once Lu—I was nearly murdered on school grounds,” Severus said, appearing out of nowhere just behind Ron. Ron jumped. 

“Sorry, sir,” he said guiltily. 

Severus turned tail and headed into the stadium, his arm brushing Hermione’s slightly as he passed her. For some reason, she blushed. Luna cracked another grin at her. 

“Pesky little buggers, nargles,” she said knowingly. 

Harry turned to Hermione, a look of understanding dawning on his face. “Nargles, eh?”

“Don’t, Harry,” she moaned. “Nargles don’t exist.”

“What’s going on?” Ron asked, looking between the three of them. 

“Let’s find our seats,” Hermione suggested, forcing a change of subject. Harry shot her a _we’ll discuss this development later, young lady_ look. Hermione pondered the irony of the situation; no doubt Harry would scrutinize and overanalyze her interactions with Severus, while she would be doing the same to Harry and Draco. _It’s like an awful Muggle romantic comedy,_ she thought. Except, of course there was no romance involved, she corrected herself hurriedly. At least not on her end. 

Somehow, she found herself squashed onto a tiny bench between Luna and Snape. _So much for the perks of being a war hero,_ she thought. In the scramble to sit before the game began, she locked gazes with her old professor, and she could have sworn that he was thinking along much the same lines. He quirked an eyebrow at her, as if to suggest that the whole escapade was the brainchild of dunderheads. She giggled. 

Fortuitously, Harry and Draco were seated directly in front of her. Less fortuitously, they began to discuss Hermione’s least favorite topic: Quidditch. Worse, Luna’s hat roared whenever the men’s conversation teetered on veering into more promising directions, rerouting the pair back to reminiscing about their schoolboy Quidditch rivalry. 

Attention fully engaged in her spying activities, Hermione had no idea that she herself was proving to be quite the object of fascination to a fellow match-goer. During the ball, Severus had found her pretty, but unremarkably so. In the time between Hermione’s first visit to the Bagshot manor and the day of the match, however, he had learned to detect the roses in her cheeks and the unquenchable fire of brilliance in her dark brown eyes. Even in her current shapeless—but undoubtedly warm—outerwear, she moved lightly, her smile as yet unshadowed by the horrors she had certainly experienced in earlier years. Here was a Hermione Granger whom he thought he might like to know better. He strained to eavesdrop on her conversation with Luna.

“They haven’t said anything that would lead you to the conclusion that you’ve reached,” Hermione insisted.

“You aren’t paying attention to the right signs,” Luna said patiently. 

“There are no signs!” 

“Then why does Ginny look so upset?”

Hermione’s head snapped to face the skies. Luna was right. Ginny was tense on her broomstick, her eyes glued to the heads of her boyfriend and his newest friend. Hermione realized that Harry had not paid an ounce of attention to the game. 

“Anyone would look upset if she had to play in this sham of a match,” Severus said. “The Chudley Cannons haven’t won a game since 1902. And that match was fixed.”

Hermione flushed, while Ron looked outraged at this insult to his beloved Cannons. 

“What can Professor Snape mean,” Hermione addressed Luna, “by listening to our private conversation?”

“That is a question that only the professor can answer.”

“Well, if he tries to pull that trick again, I shall confront him about it. He is plenty patronizing without me giving him fodder for his condescension.”

Amused, Luna said, “Why don’t you confront him right now?”

Feeling bold, Hermione turned to Severus. “Don’t you think that listening in on conversations that do not involve yourself is rather rude, sir?”

“I cannot apologize for listening to a conversation that was more interesting than the one occurring directly in front of us.”

“I cannot argue with you there,” Hermione agreed. 

“You should tell Professor Snape about your latest research, Hermione,” Luna said mildly. 

“You really ought to stop telling everyone to listen to me talk about my work, Luna.” Hermione shrugged. “Everyone finds it frightfully boring.”

“I’m sure it could not be worse than the rest of the … entertainment … provided to us tonight,” Severus said. 

Hermione eyed him suspiciously, but she acquiesced. Soon, she was engaging Severus in a lively discussion of the merits and limitations of employing Muggle statistical techniques in magical research. Luna looked as self-satisfied as her usual dreamy countenance permitted. 

“HARPIES!” the lion on Luna’s head shouted. Ron looked disgruntled. The score was 180-0 in favor of the Harpies. 

~~

After the game, the group joined the Harpies and their groupies at a local Muggle pub to celebrate the Harpies’ victory. Ginny hung onto Harry as the group at large migrated onto the dance floor. Luna took Teddy back to Grimmauld Place for the night. 

Draco, Severus, Ron, and Hermione hung back by the bar. Draco looked a little forlorn. 

“Severus, why don’t you dance? Look, Granger isn’t dancing with her friends. Help her out.” Draco gave Hermione an abrupt push in Severus’s direction. She backtracked quickly. 

“Draco, I’m not in the mood for this,” she said in a warning tone. 

“Miss Granger, if you would like to dance …” Severus’s voice trailed off.

“How polite,” Hermione seethed, turning away. Severus’s lips twitched in amusement. 

~~

“I know what you are thinking,” Narcissa declared that night when she came upon Severus sitting in front of the fire, a mug chock full of something strong enclosed in his artist’s hands.

“I highly doubt it.”

“You are wondering how long it will be before Draco and I tire of being surrounded by Gryffindors,” she smiled. “My sister and her friends know little of subtlety.”

“Your surmise is incorrect. I have no complaints on that end, for once. In fact,” he shifted deliberately in his armchair, “I have been considering the loveliness that a passionate nature adds to an already lovely young lady.”

Narcissa gaped. “And who might be the subject of these reflections?”

Recklessly, Severus responded, “Hermione Granger.”

“Hermione Granger? The mud-Muggleborn who takes no greater pleasure than in insulting you to your face?”

“The very same.”

Narcissa struggled to maintain her usual unfazed countenance. “I suppose she is as intelligent as Lily Potter was, and her background bears a likeness as well.”

“Only you would be so shallow as to suggest that I must like her for her surface similarities to Lily Evans. Is it so incredible that I might find her attractive in her own right?”

“No, of course not,” Narcissa said, chastened. After a beat, she added, “I shall look forward to the wedding.”

“Yes. I suppose we’ll have to invite Muggles,” Severus said sarcastically. The return to his usual grumpiness assured Narcissa that his newfound attraction to Hermione could only be fleeting.


	4. Truces and Tete a Tetes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the student becomes the boss.

The Muggles in question were arguing in the lobby of their newly reopened London dental practice that Sunday. Mr. and Mrs. Granger could not agree on the number of dental hygienists they could afford to hire. Hermione rolled her eyes and interjected, “Try fewer for now. If the practice does well, we can always put out notices again.”

After the war had ended, Hermione had traced Wendell and Monica Wilkins to their home in Perth, Australia. With a handy set of Confundus charms, she had finagled an invitation to dinner. During dessert, she took advantage of a moment when both parents’ backs were turned to knock them out with two quick Stupefys. A laborious two hours of tricky wandwork and mental magic had followed. When the one-time Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins awakened and found themselves to be Dr. and Dr. Granger, they were understandably furious with their daughter. 

All told, the family reunion would go down in history as one of the stormiest, not least because a freak snowstorm hit the area that night. The elder Grangers were trapped in the house with a penitent but stubborn Hermione. In the end, she wormed her way back into her parents’ affections—after all, she ultimately was a much-loved only child—but had to give her word that she would never leave them in the dark about her magical shenanigans again. 

Hermione had spent a happy month in Australia, helping her parents pack up and resume their lives in Britain. But she never stopped feeling guilty for her wartime actions with regard to Mr. and Mrs. Granger. A hefty salary accompanied Hermione’s job, but she lived frugally. She gave most of her savings to her parents so that they could restart their dental practice in London. 

“You’re right, dear,” her mother said. “Well, as we aren’t hiring any more people, I think we will be ready to enroll new patients tomorrow!”

Hermione smiled. “Best of luck to you both!” She hugged her parents briefly and backed away to the door. 

“Where are you going, Minnie o’ mine?” her father asked.

“I nearly forgot that I have dinner with the Weasleys on Sundays,” she said apologetically. 

“But we don’t see you nearly often enough!” her mother complained.

“Why don’t you come along?” Hermione suggested. “Mrs. Weasley is always asking me to bring you two once you’re settled in, but I was afraid it might be awkward for you.”

“You make too many concessions for us,” her father said. “If Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t mind having us, it would be nice to catch up with your friends.”

“Let’s be off, then,” Hermione said. “Mrs. Weasley generally makes enough food for the whole of England, and Scotland besides.”

~ ~

The Burrow stood as precariously as Severus’s memory recalled of its prewar days. He sighed as he gaped at the venerable old edifice and wondered for the umpteenth time what in Albus Dumbledore’s blasted beard had driven him to accept Molly’s invitation to “family supper.” 

“You’re a masochist, old man,” he rued under his breath. 

“Professor Snape?” a surprised, sweet voice chimed behind him. Severus spun around, reflexes as sharp as ever. 

“Miss Granger,” he nodded. A cough sounded by Hermione’s side. 

“These are my parents,” Hermione gestured to the graying folks standing on either side of her person, and Severus was hard-put not to admire the fluidity of her movements. He was suddenly very glad indeed to have attended family supper. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” Severus said politely, extending a slim, long-fingered hand.

“Dr. and Dr. Granger, young man.” Hermione’s father’s eyes twinkled, making him look oddly like a youthful Albus Dumbledore. Hermione groaned.

“My apologies,” Severus said. “I ought to have known that Miss Granger’s parents are as accomplished as she is.”

Met with a rare compliment, Hermione looked to be stunned out of speech. Severus chuckled. 

“Shall we get this tedious affair over with?” he asked.

“You of all people would be able to smell out a tedious affair with that nose of yours,” Hermione, affronted on the Weasleys’ behalf, shot back.

“I certainly would, after all those years of reading your overly long essays,” he sniffed. 

“Don’t even pretend that your schoolboy essays weren’t longer than mine!”

“Such confidence, Miss Granger. You would have had to be there to know. Don’t tell me that you Turned back time that far. Although I wouldn’t put it past you to want to take your OWLs twice, just for the fun of it.”

“Oh, you foul, loathsome—”

While the odd couple bickered all the way to the door, the Drs. Granger observed thoughtfully. 

“I rather like him,” one or the other said. 

~ ~

Mrs. Weasley opened the door, looking rather hassled. 

“Oh, how lovely to see you all.” Distractedly, she brushed air kisses onto everyone’s cheeks, including a consternated Severus. Hermione giggled. “Do come in and make yourselves at home! Food will be served in ten minutes.”

“Full house tonight,” Percy said importantly, appearing from out of nowhere at Hermione’s elbow. He motioned to the fireplace, where the Minister of Magic was chatting with Arthur, both men sporting forced smiles. 

“The Minister? Whatever is he doing here?” Hermione whispered. Severus looked annoyed. 

“Up to nothing useful, I think we can safely assume,” he said dryly. 

“That your minister?” Hermione’s father questioned skeptically. “He looks like he wouldn’t say boo to a goose.” 

Percy looked mystified by the Muggle phrase. Severus shook with suppressed laughter.   
“Dad, that’s my boss!” Hermione said, mortified. 

“But not mine,” Dr. Granger and Severus said together. They grinned—which, in Severus’s case, equated to sneering marginally less—at each other. 

“Play nicely, boys,” Hermione’s mother said reprovingly. 

“I’ll introduce you to the Minister, mum.” Hermione and her mother flounced over to join Arthur. Severus remained rooted to the spot, transfixed by the low back of Hermione’s Sunday best. The focus of his attention was not lost on Hermione’s father, who did not say anything. It was about time that someone appreciated his Minnie.

~ ~

“Here’s the stuffing, Professor,” George said courteously for the fifth time that night. 

“I had quite enough of the stuffing by the third helping, as I’m sure I’ve told you at least twice before,” Severus said, annoyed.

“But, sir, I’m only trying to help mum, you know. She only invited you here to stuff you up. She said, and I quote, you need some ‘meat on your bones.’”

“I said no such thing, George Weasley!” Molly was mortified. “Severus, I merely meant that you have gotten so thin since Albus—you know.” She fell silent. 

“No harm, no foul, Madam,” Severus said briskly. “I have always been fond of your cooking.”

Molly blushed, looking inordinately pleased. Hermione looked quite put out. So Molly Weasley gets full-on praise without trying at all, and I get a backhanded compliment that’s about ten years overdue?

“Don’t look so sad, Hermione,” Ron said snidely. “Cooking was never your strong point.”

“Much like proper meal etiquette isn’t one of yours, Ronald,” she replied evenly. Why do I keep going to these dinners?

The Drs. Granger snorted in unison, the female’s amused sniff almost consumed by her husband’s belly laugh-like grunt. Neither Granger had taken much of a liking to Ron when he was dating Hermione while they were still living in Australia; he had shown little interest in the aspects of Muggle life that their daughter still embraced, and still less interest in proving himself to be anything other than immature and selfish. 

Ron’s ears reddened as of old. “Look who’s talking about etiquette! You’ve been coming here every week for a free meal for who knows how long! No one invited you! No one would even notice if you weren’t here!” The Minister looked avidly from one ex-lover to the other as though he were at a particularly exciting final match of the Quidditch World Cup. Severus, eyes narrowed, zeroed in on Hermione’s sudden dejection. Everyone else stared into their plates as though their futures were written on them. 

“Ronald,” Mr. Weasley interjected firmly. “Hermione is family. She has no need of invitation, and we are always happy to have her here. Apologize.”

Ron was obstinately silent. Hermione suddenly stood, shoulders drooping slightly. “Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, my parents and I thank you for the delicious meal. I’m afraid I must escort them home. They have an early morning tomorrow. As do I. I’ll see you at work, Arthur, Minister.” Turning to Harry, she said weakly, “We will do our usual lunch on Wednesday, won’t we, Harry?”

Hermione’s plaintive tone irritated Severus. “You certainly will not be having lunch with Potter, Miss Granger,” he said. She turned to him, regaining some of her usual spark in her indignation. 

“Sir—”

“Severus,” he replied, his eyes amused. “First names are appropriate, I think, when you are going to lunch with your newest subordinate on Wednesday.”

“Subordinate?”

“Why, yes, Miss Granger,” Dawlish piped in happily. “Professor Snape applied for a position at the Ministry, and he professed an express interest in doing research without going the route of the Unspeakables. Your domain, you see. He will be working under you, starting at nine tomorrow morning.”

Hermione audibly gulped as Ginny, Harry, and George threw her pitying looks.

~ ~

Interdepartmental memo from Malfoy, D., of the Department of Magical Games and Sports to Potter, H., of the Auror Division:

Potty, lunch Wednesday at noon. The tea shop in Harrods. Be there or be a Squib.

~ ~

Interdepartmental memo from Potter, H., of the Auror Division to Granger, H., of the Office of Magical Research:

Hope Snape’s playing nicely. Sorry we can’t do lunch on Wednesday. If it helps, I’ll be having a perfectly awful time too. D’s forcing me to have high tea in Muggle London.

~ ~

Interdepartmental memo from Snape, S., of the Office of Magical Research to Potter, H. of the Auror Division:

As the employee assigned to be underneath Miss Granger at all times, I check her daily inbox. In response to your message: Non-work-related mail is strictly frowned-upon in this establishment, although it does not surprise me that the great Harry Potter believes himself to be above all rules. 

P.S. I’ll play nicely if you’ll do the same with my godson. 

~ ~

“Good morning, Prof-Severus.” Hermione unconsciously smoothed the pencil skirt that peeked from under her unfastened outer robe. 

“Miss Granger.” Severus inclined his head. Why is he being so polite? Why is he so tall? 

“I’m afraid I had no idea that you were assigned to my office.”

“I gathered as much at last evening’s gathering.” Severus sneered at the memory.

“Well, I’m afraid I have no idea which of our current projects might appeal to you. Let me give you a tour of the facilities, and we can brainstorm as we walk.”

“That would be agreeable.” Where is the real Severus Snape, and what have you done with him?

As Hermione led Severus through the unusual office, where she had eschewed cubicles in favor of a library-style setup of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on all four walls and comfortable leather armchairs and reading nooks dotting the floor, the pair kept up a steady stream of polite conversation. In the sparkling new potions laboratory that had been funded by Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, Severus even bestowed upon her a rare smile. Hermione was beginning to think that this arrangement might actually hold promise. The man is notoriously brilliant. Maybe we will discover the cure for Lycanthropy and win a Flamel. 

Hermione’s wishful thinking was soon proven to be premature.

“Hermione! You’re looking well,” said a familiar voice emanating from a patch of Mimbulus mimbletonia in the Hogwarts-style hothouse that the Ministry had graciously agreed to let Hermione set up. Growing, rather than importing, plant-based potion ingredients for use in her research was a cost-saving measure that had earned bipartisan praise from pureblood supremacists and progressive minds alike. Severus flinched, looking about suspiciously for the source of the disembodied voice. 

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit … 

With a decidedly ungraceful flourish, the voice’s owner pulled off a silvery, familiar-looking cloak, revealing himself to the hothouse’s newest occupants. 

“Longbottom,” Severus said, real disgust coloring his otherwise smooth baritone. 

“Professor Snape,” Neville gasped. “You’re alive!”

“It seems that you still have not learned how to read, Longbottom. My survival was on the front page of every tabloid for a month at least.” 

Hermione could not resist an interjection. “Not The Quibbler. Mr. Lovegood was much more concerned with exposing Celestina Warbeck’s ties to the Russian Muggle mafia.” Neville looked, if possible, even more mystified at this pronouncement. Severus merely looked exasperated. 

“But, but …”

“I have no interest in showing you my backside, you lout,” Severus snapped. Hermione giggled. Severus whirled towards her. 

“Miss Granger, if this is the kind of talent you employ, it shows very little for your professional judgment. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a Minister of Magic to throttle.”

“Sir-Severus!” Hermione blocked her old professor’s path. “Please, sir, Neville only works for me part time in this greenhouse. You don’t have to interact with him if you would prefer not to.” Neville nodded vigorously in agreement, readying himself to throw on the Invisibility cloak to evade Snape’s escalating fury. 

“What are his qualifications?” Severus demanded, ignoring Neville.

“He is completing his final year of Herbology apprenticeship with Professor Sprout, and he’ll be taking over for her when she retires next summer,” Hermione replied, smiling proudly at Neville. “He has a real gift.”

“Hmph,” Severus said, his expression softening marginally. He walked up and down the rows of plants, making the occasional comment to challenge Neville’s tending techniques—“Cornish pixie dust to tame Devil’s Snare? Whose dunderheaded idea was that?” “Professor Sprout’s, sir.” “Well, then.”—but in a half-hearted sort of way. Hermione hung back at the door, ready to block Severus again should he decide to bolt for it. 

A good thirty minutes later, Severus finally announced, “Longbottom, you may tend to any plants that I might need use of.”

Neville looked thrilled and terrified in equal measure. “It will be an honor, sir.” 

“Hmph.”

~ ~

“Well, that’s the place,” Hermione said at long last, wringing her hands and biting her lower lip. Severus stared at her for an uncomfortably long moment.

“It will do, Miss Granger,” Severus proclaimed. 

“Oh, excellent!” Hermione exclaimed in relief. Severus actually chuckled.

“It doesn’t take much to send you into transports of delight, does it?” he said. 

“Ron would beg to differ,” she murmured. 

“Ronald Weasley is a dunderhead of the highest caliber. He surpasses even Longbottom in his capacity for imbecility,” Severus said briskly. “Waste no more of the little grey cells on him, Miss Granger. I believe—” 

“Hermione, please,” she interrupted. 

“As I was saying, Hermione, I believe that we still have to iron out the matter of what exactly my assignment shall be.” 

“I actually have some ideas with regard to that. You see—”

“I have some ideas as well, and I fully intend to act upon them.”

“Oh,” she murmured.

“Miss Granger”—“Hermione”—“Hermione, I spent far too many years at the beck and call of two men who were singularly gifted. As with many gifted men, both were exceptionally mad. It is high time that I work on the projects that I would have completed many years ago were it not for my need for atonement and my masters’ penchant for dramatics.”

“I understand that, sir”—“Severus”—“but the Ministry has a strict budget for my office and watches over each of my projects like a hawk. I cannot guarantee that your projects will be approved or funded.”

“Miss—Hermione, I seem to remember a little girl who would stop at nothing, including pilfering her Potions master’s stores and solving said Potions master’s logic puzzle, in order to execute her plans. Where is that little girl when she is needed?”

Hermione blushed prettily. “That little girl could lose her dream job if she gives into your machinations.”

“What if I told you,” Severus began with an air of nonchalance, “that helping her Potions master would allow that little girl to trade wits with one of the greatest living researchers?”

“You—you Slytherin! You can’t manipulate me!”

“Does the name Newt Scamander mean anything to you?”

“We have a deal.”

~ ~

Hermione let Severus loose in the sprawling office, where he spent the next few days walking about like a mad scientist, alternating between pacing the spacious library floor, supervising a stammering Neville in the greenhouse, and crafting vibrantly hued concoctions in the laboratory. Severus barely exchanged two words with her, which was just fine by her; she was spending every waking minute trying to come up with a way to explain her newest coworker’s activities to the Ministry bureaucrats in a manner that would both satisfy their curiosity and maximize her operations budget. She was bursting with curiosity about Severus’s intended projects, but she deemed it prudent to let the man initiate that conversation. She did not want to alienate her old professor by reverting to her old, incessantly questioning persona. 

Wednesday, the day of the dreaded lunches, arrived far too soon for Hermione’s taste. Protest though Harry might, he still was bound to have a far friendlier lunch with Draco than Hermione would with Severus. Even if she were finally on first-name terms with the man. 

“Where to, Severus?” she asked promptly at 11:45. She wound a soft purple scarf about her slim, long neck. Severus found he was a shade too fascinated with the way the scarf drew to her heart-shaped little face and rosebud mouth, but he was too exhausted from his long days and sleepless nights to hide his blatant stare. 

“Severus?” Hermione repeated, looking concerned. She must have thought he was having some kind of spell—or was under one, more likely. 

“Take me where you and Potter would have gone,” he said finally. 

“I hope you like curry, then.”

~ ~

“Your 12 o’clock’s here, Mr. Potter,” Harry’s latest secretary’s whale Patronus reported. 

“Send him in, Gigi,” Harry called over the top of his cubicle in Auror headquarters. 

A few seconds later, Draco appeared. “The savior of the wizarding world doesn’t get his own office? Pity.”

“I do get my own secretary, though, and I only work part time,” Harry replied, unruffled. A distinctly unimpressed, Snape-like “hmph” was the sole response. The only words that were exchanged as the men passed a bored-looking Gigi on the way out were, “Muggle London, eh? I’m impressed, Malfoy.”

~ ~

“How spicy would you like your lamb, sir?” asked the tall, striking waiter. “If you’ve never had Indian lamb curry, then I would recommend going easy on the spice.” He winked at Hermione.

“I would have you know that I probably make better gosht than you do, young man,” Severus answered in a clipped voice. “I’ll take it medium.” The waiter scurried away.

“Why must you take offence to everything that is said to you?” Hermione sighed. “It seems like such a waste of energy.”

“I assure you, Hermione, that if I could avoid all human interaction, then I would certainly have done so by now. As it is, I consider it my Merlin-granted right to put dunderheads to rights whenever possible. And here I am, ready to partake of a free meal.” 

Hermione choked on her sip of mango lassi. “I’m paying? But you asked me to lunch!”

“It seems only fair for the employer to pay for his—excuse me, her—employee’s meal.”

“But what do I get in return?”

“Ah, the golden Gryffindor is thinking like a slippery Slytherin,” Severus clucked approvingly. “You’ll receive the honor of my company, of course.” 

“Not a good enough return on my investment,” she responded, eyes sparkling. Severus relented in the face of those fine eyes.

“You may ask me three questions. I will choose to answer one with full honesty. How’s that for a fair bargain?”

She nodded. “Fine.” 

“Fire away.”

~ ~

“So when did you join Games & Sports, Malfoy?” 

“Almost as soon as I arrived back in England. I made some inquiries at the Ministry, and the Minister was most welcoming. He gave me the position of my choosing.”

“How on earth did you gain so much sway with Dawlish?”

“Money will always pay, Potter. Even with all of my family’s wartime … transgressions, to put it delicately. Say what you will about my father, but he left my mother and I relatively well off. I inherited from the Lestranges as well.”

Harry made a face. “Dirty money.”

“Money that I will use to spit in the face of my dear aunt Bella’s memory,” Draco said, an ugly look suddenly spreading across his handsome face. “Name your favorite charity, Potter. It will receive quite a large Christmas gift from the Malfoy family.”

“If I may ask, what prompted this sudden about-face, Malfoy?”

“There was nothing sudden about it, Potter. I’ve had three years since the last time we traded curses to sort out my priorities. Given enough time and motivation, people change.”

“And what is your motivation?”

“What is this, an auror interrogation?” Draco shifted uneasily in his chair. “Let’s leave that for another conversation. For now, the cranberry scones look delicious.”

~ ~

Hermione munched on a tandoori chicken wing and brandished another as she spoke, much to Severus’s amusement.

“Option number one: why are you living with the Malfoys?”

Severus snorted. “Boring.” Hermione ignored the slight.

“Option number two: what exactly are you planning to research clandestinely in my labs?”

Severus made a noncommittal noise. “You’ll find out soon enough. I’m sure you have created your own theories, in any case.”

“Then at least answer me this: how did you survive the snake?” This last question was laced with an undercurrent of some indefinable emotion, which made Severus’s head snap up, his eyes briefly locking with Hermione’s.

“Give me one good reason to answer that question.”

“Because you promised to answer a question! Because it is intellectually interesting, even you have to admit that! And because—” here she paused, feeling that she had gotten in over her head.

“Because what, Miss Granger?” Severus asked stiffly. 

Hermione sagged visibly and spoke rapidly, looking intently at Severus’s lamb as though it were a particularly illuminating Foe Glass. “Because I watched you die—or at least I thought so—and I was completely powerless to stop it. Because it’s haunted me for the last three years. Because it’s the stuff of all my nightmares.”

Silence fell over the tiny table. Severus gazed with some amazement at his employer. 

“I stay with the Malfoys because Draco is my godson, and he offered me shelter at a time when I could not count on anyone else for privacy. I could have stayed at my parents’ old home in Cokeworth, but it was time for a fresh start. I owe the Malfoys more than you will ever know. In the end, who am I to turn down free housing while I go house hunting, and in a mansion, no less?”

Hermione straightened. “You’re looking for a new house?”

“Of course. I’ve spent the better part of three years with Narcissa breathing down the back of my neck at every turn. It became a nuisance on the first day. Yes, it’s high time I settled down. Devonshire will do nicely, I am told.”

She smiled. “Interesting choice of words, sir. Settling down implies that you are looking for a good woman as part of the package.”

“Well, you know what they say about a single man in possession of a fortune.”


	5. Cat, Bat, and ... Frog?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which complications abound.

_“Hermione,_

__

_Teddy came over with spattergroit this morning at the Bagshot manor, which he must have picked up from one of the infant house elves. Cissy will not hear of Teddy returning home until he is better, so there will be no need for you to take him home with you this weekend. She also insists that Madam Pomfrey come over to check on him periodically, so don’t be alarmed; he will be well taken care of. Apart from his tendency to scratch the boils until the pus runs, there is not much the matter with him._

__

_Yours,  
Andromeda”_

“What is spattergroit?” one of the Drs. Granger asked interestedly, while the other stroked the beautiful eagle owl that had borne Andromeda’s message. 

“It’s essentially the wizarding version of chicken pox,” Hermione said, feeling sorry for the little lad. “Teddy will be in quarantine at the manor for Christmas and New Year’s, poor thing.”

“You’ve had the chicken pox; does that make you immune to this spattergroit?”

“Yes, I believe it does! Oh, I know Andromeda was looking forward to relaxing a bit this weekend. I’ll go after work and watch over Teddy for a few days.”

“I’d tell you to bring the boy here, but your mother and I had plans of our own for this Christmas weekend, if you know what I mean.”

“La la la, I’m not listening, Daddy,” Hermione replied, marching out of the cozy kitchen with her fingers in her ears. 

~ ~

It was a very long day of work, what with dodging Severus whenever possible—she was still feeling awkward about her unexpectedly revealing outburst during the infamous Wednesday lunch—and attempting to complete her own Ministry paperwork before Christmas. She wanted to give all of her employees a bonus in the spirit of the holiday season, but it was an onerous task to complete the parchment trail, even with the aid of the Office of Wizard Resources. By the time she was done, it was a full three hours past the Ministry’s usual closing time, and Hermione found herself making the trip to the Ministry atrium alone in the elevator. With a yawn, she plodded into the nearest fireplace, idly tossed a handful of floo powder and announced, “Bagshot manor!” 

She was shown into the grand, mirrored dining room, where the Malfoys, Snape, and Andromeda were assembled. There was much to-do at her appearance. That she should have worked twelve hours by herself on the Friday before Christmas was shocking to Mrs. Malfoy, and Hermione felt that she was considered with disdain for it. She was received very politely by the rest, and even with jollity and genuine joy by Draco. Snape said very little, divided between admiration for Hermione’s determination to help Andromeda despite a long day’s work and amusement at Narcissa’s discomfiture. Teddy, for his part, said nothing at all, thinking only of the molten chocolate cake that Granny Cissy had promised. Andromeda departed shortly afterwards, dropping a kiss on Teddy’s sticky forehead and threatening Hermione with Howlers should she forget to keep her updated on Teddy’s condition. 

For all of Hermione’s reservations about the Malfoys, she couldn’t help but soften when she witnessed the loving care that Narcissa bestowed on itchy, squirming Teddy. Madam Pomfrey arrived with poultices and Dreamless Sleep galore, both of which were promptly administered to the reluctant invalid. Hermione did not leave his side for an instant, and Narcissa, always rather at a loss for something to do, kept her company. 

“Stay here, Auntie Minnie,” Teddy said sleepily, clutching Hermione’s hand just before nodding off for the night.

“Always, my sweet Teddy bear,” Hermione said softly, patting the back of her Teddy’s tiny paw.

“You must want a child of your own, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said. Hermione did not reply, merely stroking back Teddy’s locks, which today matched her own wild curls.

~ ~

“Where can Miss Granger be?” Narcissa fretted from her seat in the snug breakfast nook—not to be confused with the grandiose dining room of Hermione’s first night in the manor. “It’s Christmas morning! We must open the presents.”

“Master Teddy is being extra itchy this morning, Missus Malfoy,” Nori reported. “Miss Granger is bathing him in oatmeal to stop the scratches.” 

“Oatmeal? Whatever for?”

“It’s a Muggle remedy,” Severus said mildly. “My mother did the same for me when I had the chicken pox.”

“Chicken pox?” Narcissa was scandalized. “However did you contract such a disease?”

“He was bitten by a radioactive chicken, of course,” Draco said, sliding into a seat across from his mother. “It happens all the time in the Muggle world. There is even a popular series of Muggle comics about a boy who is bitten by a radioactive spider and attains magical powers.” 

“How on earth did you learn about Spider-Man?” Severus questioned, arching a silver-threaded eyebrow. 

“Arthur Weasley’s Muggle life course,” Draco replied without missing a beat. 

“I thought those were only offered to aurors,” Severus began, but Narcissa interjected, “I don’t know what ‘radioactive’ means, but it sounds most alarming. Almost as alarming as the state of Miss Granger’s robes on Friday night. What could she have been thinking, coming here in those shabby lab robes? I declare, I saw stains on them that must have had the most disgusting origins. She really looked almost wild. Who knows what she might have tracked into the house? And her hair! And what need did she have to come here to take care of Teddy? She isn’t even one of the family!” 

“Is your rant quite over, Cissy?” Severus said silkily. 

“Oh, you must have noticed the state of her robes, too! I’m inclined to think that you would rather not see your employer make such an exhibition of herself.”

“Certainly not.” 

“To work until all hours, all alone in that dungeon of a Ministry. What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show a repulsive sort of conceited independence, a most Muggle indifference to proper behavior.” 

“It shows a dedication to her work that is quite characteristic of Granger,” Draco said. 

“I’m afraid, Severus,” Narcissa said, “that Miss Granger’s disregard for decorum has rather affected your admiration of her passionate nature.”

“Not at all,” he reflected. “It only adds to my measure of her passion.” Silence followed this extraordinary pronouncement, Draco too occupied in goggling at his godfather to try the freshly squeezed pumpkin juice that Nori was attempting to pour into his outsized crystal goblet. 

~ ~

It was late in the evening when Hermione finally quit Teddy’s bedside. She felt hesitant about joining the family party downstairs, but it only seemed right to wish a happy Christmas to her hosts. She found Draco and Severus playing wizards’ chess in the dining room, with Narcissa looking on and humming tunelessly. Hermione pulled out a book from the depths of her warm woolen robes. Narcissa shook her head ruefully. 

“Miss Granger despises frivolity. She must be productive. She takes no pleasure in anything less.”

“Whether that is praise or censure, I disavow it,” Hermione said indignantly. “I do read far too much than is good for me, but I enjoy many other things as well.”

“I’m sure you’re enjoying taking care of my little nephew-cousin,” Draco said. “I hope he will be better soon to enjoy the rest of the holiday, the poor fellow.”

“I hope so, too.” Hermione smiled. Draco eyed the tome in her hands. 

“You know, I wish our library were better stocked,” Draco lamented. “At least we have the latest edition of Hogwarts, A History.” 

“It’s disgraceful how the Ministry seized Lucius’s books,” Narcissa commented. “And Severus’s! I can only imagine how many books you had before the war, dear.”

“Not too many, I’m afraid,” Severus said. “You forget that professors are paid a pittance. And the Hogwarts library more than met my needs.”

“Well, I would advise you to purchase a home with a really sizeable library, Severus. It’s never too late to start collecting.” 

Hermione could always be counted upon to listen to a conversation about books, superficial though this one was. She approached the gamers and perched on the arm of Draco’s chair. Narcissa wrinkled her nose at the thought of the varnish that would surely rub off of the chair’s arm.

“Have you heard from Miss Greengrass lately, Severus?” asked Narcissa—rather wickedly, Severus thought. “Oh, how I would love to see her again. She has such a pretty face, paired with the prettiest manners. And when I think of her accomplishments!” She looked at Hermione pointedly.

“If by accomplishments you mean attaining a height to rival all the men of her acquaintance,” Severus began, punctuated by a snort from Draco. 

“I have never known anyone quite as unladylike as Astoria Greengrass, mother, but she is certainly accomplished.” 

“Accomplishment is a word that is far too liberally used,” Severus scoffed. “Given a tutor, any witch can learn to brew a potion or charm the pants off of a man. By my criteria, I cannot say that I know more than a handful of witches that are truly accomplished.”

“I quite agree,” Narcissa said pacifically. 

“Well, then,” Hermione reflected, “you must have rather stringent criteria.” Severus nodded sharply. 

“Oh, yes,” Draco interjected, “uncle thinks that a properly accomplished witch ought to be thoroughly versed in Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, runes, defense, five magical tongues, and, of course, brewing. Not to mention be full of poise and stylishly attired at all times, even when she is ill with the spattergroit and puking up the equivalent of all the Puking Pastilles in the world.” 

“Quite,” Severus sneered. “Of course, all this is moot unless she has a vested interest in continual self-improvement, which is best done through wide reading.”

“A handful of accomplished witches? I have no idea where you found even one!” Hermione exclaimed.

“That shows a distinct lack of faith in your own sex, Hermione,” Severus rebuked mildly. Draco’s eyes bugged at this casual use of Hermione’s first name. 

“I have never seen such a witch in my life,” Hermione acknowledged.

“I seem to remember such a witch from my Hogwarts days,” Narcissa murmured so that only Hermione could hear. “A Gryffindor with similar parentage to yourself, Miss Granger.” 

Hermione flushed. “I don’t think it is quite fair to anyone to hold up a ghost as the standard of the day.” With that, she hopped off of the arm of Draco’s chair, bid a hurried good night to the family, and whisked herself away to Teddy’s convalescence room. 

“Hermione Granger is one of those witches who wishes to please wizards by undermining herself and her own sex,” Narcissa declared. “I’m sure it works with most wizards, but I think it is distinctly sneaky of her.” 

“I doubt that feigning weakness is something that Hermione Granger has ever done in her life,” Severus said. “She is as Gryffindor as they come. She went after a troll in her first year at Hogwarts, for Circe’s sake.”

Narcissa fell silent, displeased with this rejoinder. 

~ ~

The next morning, Mrs. Weasley arrived, all in a flutter to check on her honorary grandson Teddy and to scold Hermione for not notifying her earlier of said grandson’s illness. “I heard it from Harry, and on Christmas day, no less!” Harry, his head bobbing sheepishly in the fireplace, cast an apologetic smile at Hermione from behind Mrs. Weasley’s back. “The poor child did not have a real Christmas! None of his family was with him.” 

“We did our best, I’m sure,” Narcissa said stiffly. “And insofar as family goes, I was his grandmother’s sister the last time I checked the tapestry of the Black family tree.” 

“Oh, yes,” Molly said, obviously flustered. “Quite right, Narcissa.” 

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Narcissa corrected coolly. Harry and Draco pasted on identical expressions of alarm. Hermione wished she could be anywhere but the Bagshot manor at that moment. It’s about time that I went on that Crumple-Horned Snorkack expedition with Luna. 

“Your house is very beautiful,” Molly replied, avidly scoping out the place from left to right. “Is that a goblin-made chandelier?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea,” Draco responded when it looked like Narcissa was going to ignore the Weasley matriarch. “I bought the place in a hurry, you see, and the chandelier was part of the package.” 

“It was very hurried, wasn’t it?” Hermione questioned. “It seems quite out of character for you.” 

“Hermione!” Molly scolded, even as she strained to peek into the adjacent drawing room. “It’s bad manners to pry into Draco’s personal business.” Harry made an odd sound that resembled a cross between a chuckle and a burp. Hermione rolled her eyes, her gaze encountering a very interesting eyebrow dance occurring between Narcissa and Snape. She felt embarrassed for herself and Mrs. Weasley. 

“Did Luna have Christmas supper with your family, Mrs. Weasley?” she asked. 

“Yes, with Xeno. He is such a funny man. You know, he would talk to the Minister the same as he would to Argus Filch. Now that is my idea of good manners, and those who give themselves grand airs and sneer at the world are quite the opposite.” 

Now this ill-disguised dagger was not to be borne, and Narcissa’s nose lifted a good two inches, while Severus’s own hooked appendage wrinkled in amusement. 

“It’s a pity that Luna is too otherworldly for my boys. They like good, down-to-earth girls, don’t they, Harry dear?” 

“Luna is a sweetheart,” Harry proclaimed. 

“Yes, but her head is always in the clouds, is it not? Whereas Ginny is as practical as can be. Why, she’s saving up her earnings for her wedding ceremony and reception.” Harry’s look of apprehension transmuted into one of sheer terror.

“I thought Ginny was saving for a flat of her own in London,” Hermione said. 

Silence ensued. Harry looked thoughtful, while Mrs. Weasley bore a mutinous expression. Hermione wished she could Turn back time enough to prevent this conversation from happening. With some commendable quick thinking, Draco led Harry and Mrs. Weasley to Teddy’s room. Uncomfortably ensconced in the breakfast nook, Hermione, Snape, and Narcissa could hear Teddy’s paroxysms of joy when Harry presented him with a Teddy-sized teddy bear, as well as his fidgeting when Molly forced him into a color-changing Weasley sweater. Before stepping into the fireplace to return to the Burrow, Molly turned to Draco and said, “The Minister informed me that you are planning to host a housewarming ball, Draco. Is that still in the works?”

“I was never told of this!” Narcissa exclaimed. 

“I mentioned it to Dawlish in passing,” Draco nodded. “Would New Year’s Eve do? I know it’s short notice, but Teddy should be well by then, and he can attend as well.” 

“Wonderful!” Molly beamed. Narcissa was aghast. “The preparations! The musicians! The feast! The décor!” 

“Well, that should keep you quite busy for the next few days, Mother.” Draco looked pleased with himself. 

~~

Over the following week of last-minute party planning, Narcissa drove herself nearly to her wits’ end, all the while grumbling under her breath: “I love my son, but I do think I hate him sometimes” … “To invite the Parkinsons, even though they have legally separated, or to only invite one or the other, or to not invite the Parkinsons at all? That is the question” … “Live music or self-playing instruments? How does one get in contact with the Weird Sisters tribute band?”

Left much to herself and to Severus’s mercy, Hermione spent her time alternating between keeping a sharp eye on Teddy—“Don’t scratch, darling, even though the scars do remind me of your daddy”—and sparring with Severus—“Do not cross me on the subject of Muggle literature, Severus, or you might find yourself surrounded by a flock of very angry canaries.” 

Unable to control the situation as was her wont, Narcissa dedicated her admittedly limited leisure time to getting rid of Hermione. Her primary strategy was to coax Severus into disliking the unforeseen guest. 

“When you and Miss Granger marry,” she teased one unseasonably warm morning as she and Severus took a stroll in the garden, “you do realize that you will have to cut back on your little bride’s cherished time with Molly Weasley and her tribe of boys. And you might wish to curb that absurd self-confidence that your young miss has before it drives you to madness.” 

“Any other recommendations for achieving conjugal bliss?” 

“Why, yes, I’m sure she’ll want to place some of those nonsensical non-moving Muggle photographs alongside that grand portrait of your grandmother Prince. And she’ll probably want to do up the house in Gryffindor colors. Of course, they would go well with her ‘passionate nature.’”

“As would Slytherin colors, I am sure.”

Hermione and Teddy, who was pulling on his beloved auntie’s sleeve, suddenly appeared on the path behind them. Narcissa began to speak rapidly, afraid that Hermione had heard her jibes. 

“Oh, Miss Granger, I had no idea that Teddy was well enough to take a walk! How lovely! How are you feeling, Teddy love?”

Teddy scampered up to Narcissa and Severus, impishly grabbing Severus’s hand and swinging it. “Teddy fly!” he cried. Hermione watched Teddy’s daring with bated breath. Severus sighed but made no move to remove the child from his person. “Consider this your belated Christmas gift,” he said sternly to the child, hoisting Teddy onto his back before zooming up into the air and performing graceful aerial maneuvers, never letting go of the child’s hands around his neck. 

“Severus is so good with children,” Narcissa cooed contentedly. Hermione was struck by a long-suppressed memory.

_She crouched on the edge of the standard-issue infirmary bed, desperately resisting a newfound urge to lick at the fine hairs on her arms. She whimpered piteously._

__

_“What could possibly be so urgent that I must stop the brewing that, need I remind you, you asked for?” Professor Snape, gliding smoothly into the room, inquired of the school nurse._

__

_“I’ve never seen anything like it, Severus,” Madam Pomfrey said in a hushed voice. “An accident with Polyjuice Potion, apparently.” She gestured to Hermione’s bed. Severus followed the motion of her hands. Hermione moaned in pain, but it emerged as a plaintive “mrow.”_

__

_“Miss Granger?” Severus said in disbelief. He approached her bed cautiously, and she reared back in fright._ Don’t be mean, please …

__

_“I take it that you will not experiment with dangerous potions in an uncontrolled environment again, Miss Granger?” Snape perched on the edge of her bed, his voice surprisingly soothing for once._

__

_“Mrow,” she replied, hoping that he would recognize it for the assent that it was. In the first hour of her transformation, she had been capable of human—if hypernasal—speech, but the situation had rapidly deteriorated since. She was becoming more cat-like by the minute. Severus gaped at her, rendered speechless for the first time since Harry had snatched the Snitch from right under his nose the year before._

__

_“Here, kitty,” he positively purred, hoping to assuage her fear while simultaneously racking his brain for an antidote that would rectify her plight. Hermione ignored her human instincts and crawled onto his lap._

__

_“I think I like you better as a cat, Miss Granger,” he chuckled, rocking the terrified cat-child. “Poppy, I have some ideas for a potion that might help. Can you write these ingredients down as I list them?”_

“I’m not sure that many of his former students would agree with you, but his heart is in the right place,” Hermione conceded, smiling slightly and leaving Narcissa to ponder what Hermione could possibly know of Severus Snape’s heart. 

~ ~

Andromeda would be arriving the next morning to relieve Hermione of Teddy-sitting duties, and not a moment too soon, if one were to ask Hermione. She sat quietly in the Malfoys’ enormous but rather bare library, her legs crossed a few feet away from the crackling fire. Narcissa hovered nearby over Severus, who was penning a letter. Draco found his entertainment in the form of Teddy, who was showing off his spattergroit scars to a gratifyingly interested Nori. 

Narcissa said, “We will have to seal off this room during the ball. It would never do for the Minister to discover how few books we have.” Severus did not look up from his writing. Mrs. Malfoy started to pace the length of the spacious environs, but she still did not succeed in drawing the potions master’s eye. 

“Miss Granger, you must be tired of reading! Why don’t you join me for a tour of this space?” Narcissa called. 

If Hermione was surprised by this unusual offer on the last night of her stay, she did not voice her confusion. She obediently rose from the floor, stretching in a cat-like manner. As she regained her full height, her eyes, unbidden, sought Severus’s. He was watching her silently, his expression unfathomable. Her cheeks burned. Probably from sitting so close to the fire. 

“Won’t you join us, Severus?” Narcissa asked, innocently enough.

“I would much rather watch the show from where I’m sitting,” Severus said lazily, leaning back in his armchair. 

“Show? Whatever can he mean, Miss Granger?” Narcissa tucked her arm confidingly into Hermione’s. 

“No idea, but it cannot reflect well upon us,” Hermione responded. “The best way to frustrate him is to refuse to ask him about it.”

“Nonsense! Severus, do explain.”

“I see this playing out in one of two ways, and I am most intrigued to see which route it takes,” Severus said. “Either you shall attempt to ingratiate yourself with Hermione in a last-ditch effort at true hospitality, or you are going to plumb her brain for information about the ball’s guests for your own nefarious purposes. If it is the first, then let me by no means get in your way. And if it is the second, then nothing could entice me less into joining your little party.”

“Sweet baby Potter!” Narcissa exclaimed. “I have never heard anything so crude. I thought better of you, Severus. How shall I punish him for such cruel conjecture, Miss Granger?”

“The easiest thing would be to laugh at him. Don’t take him as seriously as he takes himself.” 

“Laugh at Severus Snape! I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“That is a great pity indeed,” Hermione said, “for Merlin knows he loves to laugh at us.”

“I have given you ladies no reason to laugh at me,” Severus said mildly. “It has been one of the few triumphs of my adulthood that I have avoided situations that would lead to public ridicule.” 

“So you’ve never had any public displays of vanity or pride?” Hermione challenged.

“Vanity? Certainly not. But pride—pride is something to, well, be proud of.” 

Hermione could not mask her noise of disagreement. 

“You may not agree with me now, Miss Granger, but life will make you come around to my way of thinking. I may not be an understanding or a particularly nice-tempered man, but I will not apologize for my self-esteem. It was bought at a high cost to myself.”

“And at an even higher cost to others, unless you’ve forgotten,” she snapped. “You win, sir; you are impossible to laugh at.” 

“No one is perfect, so forgo the sanctimoniousness, if you please,” he said coldly. 

“You and your need to always have the last word! How can you possibly like yourself?”

“And what of your propensity to willfully misinterpret the words of others? How can you possibly have any friends?” 

“I’ve had enough of this conversation,” Narcissa sighed. “Teddy, time for bed!”

“But Nori hasn’t seen the spot on my bum!”

~ ~

Yes, Hermione was not sorry to see the back of the old Bagshot manor. Rising early the next morning, she bathed quickly and wolfed down an omelet, courtesy of Nori, at Teddy’s bedside. Nuzzling a sleepy Teddy’s cheek, she whispered, “I’ll see you at the ball, my fine sir. Will you do me the honor of being my escort?” 

“What’s a ’scort, Auntie Minnie?” 

“An escort is a boy who agrees to be my friend and play with me at the ball.” 

“Okay! But I want a ’scort, too. Can cousin Draco be my ’scort?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Hermione replied solemnly as she blew the toddler a kiss and tiptoed to the door, hoping not to awaken the rest of the household. She crept down the grand staircase and padded to the front door, so exultant in her quiet escape that she did not notice the dark figure pacing in the shadows. 

“Miss Granger.” Hermione startled, whirling towards the source of the noise and whipping out her wand. 

“Oh, it’s you.” She tucked her wand back into the inside pocket of her outer robe, glaring at Severus Snape. His eyes were bloodshot and he did not look like he had gotten a wink of sleep. Hermione felt a brief pang of pity, which she determinedly flicked away as though it were a pesky garden gnome. 

“Let’s part as friends, shall we?” Severus said, extending a pale, artistic hand to her. Hermione waited a beat, eyeing him balefully. “Tut tut, I didn’t have you pegged as someone who holds a grudge.” 

“I don’t think I can quite call you a friend yet, Severus,” she said. “In any case, I am your superior now, and you would do well to remember it.” 

It was Severus’s turn to cast a threatening glance. “My, how the tables have turned,” he said in a bored tone. “Where are you off to at such an ungodly hour?”

“Work, if you must know. I’ve had an owl from our newest collaborators, fresh from the Americas.” 

“And who might these international dunderheads be?”

“Read for yourself.” She dug out a rather battered piece of parchment from her pocket, smoothing it out for him to peruse. 

_“Nazca, 29th December_

_Dear Madam Granger,_

_I consider it a great shame that the ministries of the Americas and Great Britain have not collaborated on any significant venture since the great schism of 1776, when Theobald Jefferson, much like his Muggle cousin, acted upon the nascent American love of independence and sought to distance the newly formed magical government from yours. I have long wished to unite our nations in the realm of magical research, but I was kept back by my fears of governmental backlash.”_

Severus snorted. “More likely he was kept back by the outright war occurring on our soil. Who is this pompous coward?” 

_“I have recently stumbled upon some coordinates that hold great promise in my area of study, and having heard interesting things about your new department, my mind is resolved. I am fortunate to have been given the blessing of my grandfather, whom you will have heard of: Mr. Newton Artemis Fido Scamander, Order of Merlin Second Class, Emeritus Chair of the Beasts Division at your own Ministry of Magic. As a Magizoologist in the vein of my grandfather, I aspire to nothing less than to offer my particular brand of academic acumen to a department that is sadly lacking in such expertise—“Hmph!”—and I must say that I believe you will find my patronage highly desirable. I hope you will not worry your pretty head over the admittedly intimidating task of joining forces with a name like Scamander. I will be arriving by transatlantic portkey on the morning of the 30th to hash out our research arrangement, with apologies for arriving in the midst of the holiday season. As you well know, there is always time for a good project._

__

__

_Yours,  
Rolf Scamander” _

“So I am off to greet Mr. Scamander at his earliest convenience,” Hermione said, a glimmer of amusement shining in her impish brown eyes. “He writes a polite letter, does he not?”

Severus groaned. “Yes, quite polite to offer all of a few hours’ notice regarding his plans. He is thought to hold great promise within the naturalists’ circle, though, so this—collaboration—might be worth your while.” 

“I’ve been racking my brain for ideas of what he could possibly want to work on with us, but I confess I’m at a loss. He certainly has a flair for intrigue. Do you think he can be a very serious academic, sir?”

“Despite his famous relative, I expect he’ll be quite the opposite, madam,” Severus replied. “I think I shall look forward to meeting him.” He cracked a sinister grin. Hermione was uncomfortably reminded of just how menacing Severus Snape could be. 

~ ~

Rolf Scamander was a lithe, blithe young man who could not have been much older than Hermione herself, yet he carried himself with a confidence that would rank 10 out of 10 on the Lockhart scale, Hermione noted. His defining feature appeared to be his wide, gummy mouth that recalled Neville’s old toad, Trevor. Having sized Rolf up in the instant that he barged into her office, Hermione thought it was unfortunate that such an obviously harmless blighter shared his facial structure with the most dangerous woman she knew. As Rolf croaked on about his journey to London, Hermione watched his extremely mobile lips in fascination, contemplating the outrageous possibility that someone in the Scamander lineage might have interbred with an Umbridge ancestor. She inwardly recoiled. 

“And so that dreadful Knight Bus dropped me off at this disgusting restroom. Did you know that the entrance to your Ministry is a toilet?” 

“Stan didn’t leave you at the public entrance, then? It’s a telephone booth,” Hermione said sweetly. 

“Well, that would have been much preferred! I can’t imagine why no one informed me.”

“I would have informed you if I had been given earlier notice of your impending arrival,” Hermione said calmly. 

Rolf had the grace to look momentarily ashamed. “Well, your office is beautiful, at any rate. I have heard great things about you, Miss Granger, but they pale in comparison to the real thing. I suppose you will leave a wonderful legacy behind here when you decide to leave.”

“Leave? I wasn’t aware that I would be leaving.”

“A talent such as yours is wasted in a startup with minimal resources, subject to the whims of what is known around the world to be an erratic, fumbling Ministry of Magic.” 

“A Ministry that is extending its hospitality to you in the interim, Mr. Scamander.”

“No need to go on the defensive, Miss Granger. Your pride in your Ministry does you credit, I’m sure. The fact remains that you could do so much more good in a place like the Centers for Wizarding Disease Control in the States, especially when you consider the status of the funds for your department here.”

“What could you possibly know about my funding?”

“Didn’t you know, Miss Granger, that the National Institute of Wizarding Innovation grant that enabled you to open and run this department is administered by my grandfather, Newt Scamander?”

“But that means …” she gasped.

“Yes, in the event that my beloved grandfather passes on, I will control your funding. And I see little purpose in encouraging innovation in this isolated department when it would be much more fruitful to combine your considerable talents with your American peers.” 

Perhaps Rolf wasn’t as harmless as he looked.


	6. Extremely Proud and Incredibly Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a ball and Rolf just won't go away.

Rolf Scamander’s threat loomed over Hermione’s head over the next couple of days, and she felt at times that she might faint from the strain of it. Rolf might be powerless while his grandfather—whom Hermione sincerely hoped had been given some of Nicholas Flamel’s Elixir of Life in the days before the famed alchemist had decided to give up his share of immortality—endured, but he had immeasurable influence with her Ministry of Magic. She was certain that even Harry Potter’s influence would not keep her department alive, at least not without the aid of a vast fortune that Harry, who presumably would be starting his own family soon, could not lend to her. Where did that leave her? She could not countenance simply allowing her hard-earned department to die an unceremonious death, nor could she stand the thought of leaving her family and friends, especially after all they had been through together. 

It did not help that Rolf insisted on hanging around the office like an irksome beetle, chattering away about his grandfather’s brilliance and the unusual coordinates in Nazca that he had just discovered. It seemed that at a particular site in South America, there was potential to unearth the keys to an earlier, earthier brand of magic than the one practiced by the modern Western world. Ordinarily, Hermione would have been interested in learning more; now, her spirits were much depressed. 

“Do you live with your grandfather, Mr. Scamander?” Neville inquired politely as he pruned a Flutterby bush that was growing at a speed equal to the rate of his whacking. Rolf was strolling leisurely among the flowerbeds of the hothouse, with Hermione trailing behind and devoutly wishing the Devil’s Snare would snatch her and put her out of her misery. 

“Since retiring, he and my grandmother have chosen to live quite near, only a few streets over.”

“Do you have any other family nearby?”

“I have an aunt, Liz; she is the true heiress of my grandfather’s estate, but she is poorly and takes little interest in pecuniary matters.”

“I don’t think my grandmother has ever mentioned knowing a Liz Scamander, and I would think they’d be of a similar age, since Dumbledore and your grandfather were contemporaries.”

“My aunt’s health has always kept her on the opposite side of the pond, you know,” Rolf said breezily. “I’ve told my grandfather more than once that Liz’s love of solitude has deprived magical society of a real jewel. He always likes hearing that kind of thing.”

“How kind of you to provide him with a ready supply of flattery,” Hermione interjected. “If it is not too presumptuous, do you mind if I ask if you come up with your praise on the spot?”

“I have to admit that sometimes I take a few minutes to come up with a fresh stock of compliments before going to my grandfather’s house. Only the best for the Scamanders, you know.”

“Yes, I am beginning to realize that,” Hermione muttered. 

Unbeknownst to Hermione, the aim of Rolf’s mission in Britain was twofold. On the one hand, it was his earnest desire to work with the world-renowned Gryffindor princess, which could only add to the luster of his own academic profile. On the other hand, Rolf was, for lack of a better word, lonely. It was hard to belong to the upper crust of society in a country that had little use for class constructs. He had few friends of his social and intellectual caliber back in the States, and what is more, he had even fewer romantic prospects. It had been a long time since the appealing but aloof Hermione Granger had been seen in the company of a deserving man, and Rolf would be a fool not to take this unprecedented opportunity. If a well-placed threat here and there would aid in achieving this goal, well, Rolf was only human. 

“Miss Granger, would you care for some lunch? My treat.” Rolf asked, wondering when Hermione would finally insist upon him calling her by her first name. Then again, she might enjoy the formality, he mused. Some women were kinky like that. 

Hermione shot Neville a distressed glance, but he was too absorbed in his shearing to notice the damsel in despair. Typical Longbottom. “All right.” 

“Excellent!” He rubbed his hands together in glee. “Where shall we go?”

Hermione pondered the point of which restaurant in the vicinity was most likely to give her guest heartburn. “There’s a delicious curry place up the road.”

~ ~

“Thank you for coming, Harry,” Hermione whispered in her friend’s ear as Rolf ambled ahead to settle the check. “I couldn’t have borne it if I’d had to eat with him alone.”

Harry looked at her sympathetically. “Thank Gigi, the queen of Patronus interception, not me. Why don’t you stand up to this Rolf like the Hermione we all know and love? You owe him nothing.”

“It’s complicated,” she said. They fell silent. 

“Wait, that cashier looks familiar,” Harry suddenly said, speeding up to join Rolf at the register.

“Potter?” the cashier asked incredulously, extending a hand to Harry to shake. 

“Evans, isn’t it?” 

“Yessir, Mark Evans at your service!” 

Harry laughed, shaking the proffered hand vigorously. “Good to see you, mate. Evans, this is my best friend, Hermione. And this is Rolf.” Rolf puffed up noticeably at this acknowledgement by the one and only Harry Potter. “Evans and I are fellow victims of my cousin Dudley’s bullying.”

“Nice to meet you, Hermione,” Mark smiled, his eyes crinkling pleasantly at the corners. He was quite handsome, tall with reddish blond hair and cornflower blue eyes. A nice, homegrown British lad, her mother would have denoted him. She smiled back. 

“Evans? Are you related to Harry’s mother?” 

“A third cousin by marriage once removed or summat like that,” Mark nodded. “Not related enough to count, if you know what I mean.”

Hermione looked at Harry questioningly. “Thanks to my mother, the Evans family knows about magic, but none of them apart from my mother has shown magical ability.”

“Ah, I see,” Hermione said. 

“It’s good to see you all grown up, Mark. How old are you now?” Harry asked.

“In my twenties now, aren’t I?” Mark grinned. “Your age, I reckon.”

Harry gawked at him. “But you were so little when Dudley started picking on you, and I must have been at least thirteen then.”

“I always was a scrawny thing,” Mark said, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Like you, remember? Must run in the family.” 

Harry shrugged and smiled. “It was good to see you, Mark.” The group turned to leave.

“Hermione,” Mark called after Hermione’s retreating back. “I’ve noticed you here before, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Puzzled, Hermione turned. “What did you want to say?”

“It isn’t something I can discuss in the open like this,” he said, looking uneasily around the restaurant. “Meet at the corner pub at five?”

Enthralled with the mystery, Hermione assented, while Rolf looked suddenly furious. This muggle, Evans, had scored a date with the object of his affections, while Rolf had ended up as a third wheel to Hermione and Harry. 

~ ~

“I have a New Year’s Eve ball to prepare for in about an hour, so I hope we can make this fast,” Hermione said, sliding onto a barstool. 

“A ball? Sounds old-fashioned,” Mark said. 

“No one ever said that magical society was progressive,” Hermione sighed. 

“If you are so frustrated, then why don’t you leave it?” Mark queried.

“That’s an intrusive question,” she reproved. 

“You don’t have to answer it.”

After a pause, she responded, “I suppose one doesn’t abandon the things and people one loves. Working towards magical innovation and equality drives me. If I left the wizarding world, I would have no purpose.”

“Well, there you have it,” Mark flashed that devastatingly attractive smile again. Hermione heartbeat quickened. 

“I’ve never been able to articulate that before,” she said slowly. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you for meeting with me like this.” He hesitated. “Fact is, I remembered you from the last time you went to the restaurant. You were with a man that I once knew. I wanted to warn you about him.”

“Oh?”

“Tall, dark, looks like a vampire?”

“Oh, Snape,” she replied, much amused. 

“Precisely. I think you should stay away from him. How long has he been in town?” A memory of Harry and Ron wrongly denouncing ‘the greasy git’ stirred in her brain, and she sighed. 

“A few months, at least. Mark, how do you know him, exactly?”

“I daresay no one could know the secretive Mr. Snape better than me. I have known him and his family since I was born.”

Hermione was nonplussed.

Mark continued, “I’m surprised that Snape didn’t run out of the restaurant when he saw me, to be honest. Do you know him well?”

“Far too well, in my opinion,” Hermione confessed. “He was my teacher for six years, and he is currently in my employ.”

“And what is your opinion of him?”

“He is a proud man,” she finally replied after a bit of thought. “You will find few who will speak of him favorably in our world, although he did save us all.”

“He can be right scary,” Mark agreed. “But that is nothing when compared to his true, manipulative nature.”

“You sound afraid.”

“Afraid? He should be afraid of me. If he is avoiding me, that’s his choice. His poor mum—I called her granny Eileen—was an incredibly courageous woman. It’s sad that her son turned out so different. I could’ve forgiven him if he hadn’t done harm to his mum’s memory.”

Hermione’s heart rate accelerated at a pace with her confusion, but she maintained a skeptical façade. It was beyond bizarre for this strangely well-connected Muggle to emerge from the shadows of both Harry’s and Snape’s lives. However, Harry seemed to have a high regard for Mark, and Mark was very earnest—and easy on the eyes. She changed the subject.

“What brings you to London from Surrey, Mark?”

“It wasn’t an easy childhood, you know, as I’m sure you’ve gathered from Harry. I just liked the idea of being in London, reinventing myself, joining in all the excitement. I need people, you know, real people. And work. I never thought I’d work in a restaurant, but after the Snape disaster, well, I went bankrupt and my promising career in commerce went to the dogs.” 

“No!”

“Yes! My family moved back to the family seat in Cokeworth a few years ago, just around the corner from the Snapes’ home. I ran into the old lady soon after we arrived, and she took a liking to me. Ended up running errands for her, caring for her during the summers. Sweet granny Eileen put in a condition in her will that arranged for Snape to ensure that I would always have a paid position and be taken care of. ’Course, then the end of your war arrived, and we all thought Snape died and wouldn’t be able to keep up his end of the bargain. Granny Eileen didn’t last two weeks after she thought her son was gone.”

“Poor Eileen! If only we’d known she was alive. Why, she wasn’t invited to her own son’s funeral!” 

“’Course she went to the funeral. She was on staff at that school of Snape’s.”

“WHAT?” Don’t tell me Eileen Snape’s alias was Sybill Trelawney …

“Yeah, she had a disguise and all. Snape wanted her to lie low, so she hid out in the library during the school year. Sounded like an easy job to me. Always had time for a cuppa.”

Hermione wanted to smack herself upside the head. It seemed that the Snapes had taken a page out of Voldemort’s book and used an anagram to disguise Eileen. The letters of ‘Irma Pince’ rearranged themselves in Hermione’s mind to form ‘I’m a Prince.’ How very uncreative, she thought uncharitably. 

“So, Madam Pince—excuse me, Mrs. Snape—passed away. You can hardly blame Mr. Snape for not coming back immediately; I’m sure he was recovering from his snake attack.”

“You see, I got a letter from Snape, not even a week after his mum died, by regular post. Shocked, I was. Said he knew about the condition in the will and wanted to honor his mum’s request. Flew me out to France, he did.”

“That was kind of him.”

“I thought so, too. He set me up in the company he was starting. I was in charge of the books. But the business was … odd. Deliveries in the dead of night, strange parcels to places I’d never heard of, costs unaccounted for. Never did figure out what exactly Snape was dealing in. I started getting suspicious, even started investigating a little. Saw Snape less and less often. Then one day, Stori Greengrass showed up and kicked me to the kerb. Said my job was now her job, and that I was out. When I asked to meet with Mr. Snape, she laughed in my face. Checked my bank account, and all the money I’d earned and put away was gone. I sent Snape a letter asking for a reference for another job, but all I got was a slip of paper saying his duty to me was done and never to contact him again. Nowadays, restaurant work’s about all I can manage to get without references.” 

Hermione was completely baffled by this story, and more than a little indignant on Mark’s behalf. “How could he just cut you off without an explanation? And dismiss you without warning!”

“To be honest, I think he was beginning to be afraid that I was about to discover what he was really up to, and he couldn’t afford that. He isn’t a nice man, Hermione.”

“Trust me, I am well aware of that fact. But I have never known him to be so obviously deceitful! Even when we all thought he’d murdered Dumbledore, he didn’t hide from the world.”

“He’s a resentful, unforgiving sort of chap,” Mark remarked. “’Course, I’m biased.”

“I keep hearing about this Astoria Greengrass … what do you know about her?”

Mark shook his head. “I wish I could say she was a nice girl, but she’s spent too much time with Snape. Proud, she is. Initially, she was open enough with me. We were around the same age and were thrown together most of the time. She’s quite the accomplished lass.”

“Accomplished! That word again. I’ve come to hate the sound of it.”

“Quite the teacher’s pet, if you know what I mean. She and Snape spent many, many hours closeted away in the office.”

Hermione fell silent, unsure of what to make of this slew of information. Her mind reeled with all this new information about Snape’s activities since the end of the war. She would have to discuss these developments with Harry. 

“I just thought you ought to be warned, Hermione. Snape does what he likes, and he doesn’t care who he hurts along the way. He might be some kind of war hero in your world, but that doesn’t magically make him a perfect person.” 

“I will keep that in mind. Thank you for sharing your story with me.” She hesitated. “Mark, I’ve promised a dear little boy that he would be my date, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you would like to go to the ball with me.”

Mark smiled. “While that sounds lovely, I don’t have anything worth wearing to a fancy dress party. I’m penniless, remember?”

“It is at times like these that magic comes in handy,” she told him. 

“Will Snape be there?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I really ought to go so that he knows I couldn’t care less about him, but I have the late shift at the curry house tonight.”

“Next time, then.”

“Yes, next time.”

~ ~

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, like Wrackspurts whispering in his ear, for what Professor Snape did to Mark,” Luna said consolingly. The pair of them had decamped to a quiet corner of the Bagshot ballroom, where they slipped off their charmed heels and sipped on vivid lilac cocktails. 

“You know how jealous Severus can get, Luna,” Hermione said urgently. “Just think of how awfully he treated Harry during school, simply because Harry looked like his girl-stealing father! Who is to say that he didn’t hate Mark for how Mrs. Snape had favored him?”

“Why is it that the most likely explanation in your mind is also the least kind to the professor? After everything he’s done for us!”

“You can’t deny that there is something peculiar about the whole affair. Who is Astoria Greengrass, and what can she and Severus be up to?”

“They might be working together. They might be sleeping together. What does it matter? One doesn’t know what to think.” Luna took in Hermione’s reddened, slightly blotchy face. She looked like she’d been crying. Luna silently took her friend’s hand in hers. “Hermione, have you been sleeping at all?”

Hermione took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Luna. I’m just beginning to realize how little control I really have. Over work, over my personal life. Even over my nightmares.”

“Don’t give up, dear. Celestina Warbeck gave up, and the next day she was kidnapped by the Russian mafia.”

~ ~

“I’m not sure how you Brits conduct matters of the heart, but if it isn’t too much trouble, would you care to take a spin around the room with me, Miss Granger?” Rolf bowed deeply in front of her in a parody of gentlemanly conduct, deliberately ignoring Luna.

Hermione rued the fact that Teddy was about two decades too young to be a proper escort who would save her from this mess. “Certainly, Mr. Scamander,” she said, attempting a gracious curtsy. She felt oppressed by Rolf’s attentions and wished he would make an effort to meet the other young women in the ballroom. “Have you met my good friend, Luna Lovegood?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Rolf inclined his head slightly and surveyed Luna’s overly sequined getup, her eyes made more protuberant than usual by her dramatic violet eyeliner. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione spied Snape’s dramatic entrance. He was wearing his usual full black, although—was his cloak changing color? As it caught the light, it seemed to highlight the richest royal purple threads in its undoubtedly expensive weave. Hermione mused that purple seemed to be the color of the evening. She wouldn’t have thought of it in connection with Snape, but it suited him. Lost in contemplation, she didn’t notice as Rolf steered her onto the floor.

“Ouch!” Hermione redirected her focus onto her dance partner.

“Sorry, my dear,” Rolf apologized, pulling her closer. His face had somehow descended to a level far too close to hers. She felt that at any instant, his tongue might dart out of its mouth and snag her nose, like a frog’s tongue might catch a fly. She attempted to back away as politely as one could retreat from someone who held one’s future in his grabby little hands. 

“Auntie Minnie!” Teddy loudly proclaimed, tugging on one of her wayward curls. In relief, she whirled towards the newcomer. Draco was bouncing Teddy on his hip, both boys chuckling at her discomfiture. 

“Teddy bear!” Hermione scooped Teddy out of Draco’s arms. “I was wondering when my handsome date would appear!”

“I don’t have spitgoat anymore,” Teddy crowed. 

“But I might have caught it,” Draco muttered into her ear.

“Salazar forbid,” she replied gravely as Teddy giggled. Rolf cleared his throat. Flapping flobberworms, he sounds like Umbridge. “I don’t think you two have met my newest colleague. Draco Malfoy, Teddy Lupin, may I introduce Rolf Scamander, grandson of Newt Scamander?”

“Old Newt’s grandson, eh?” Draco said. “Newt and my father used to correspond.” 

“Who is your father?” Rolf asked curiously. “Is he here?”

Draco’s smile faded slightly. “Lucius Malfoy. He passed away during the war.”

Hermione looked at Draco, her mind working at lightning speed. During the war? But I thought Narcissa mentioned that it happened after everything was over … Hermione opened her mouth to interrogate Draco, but she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Hermione Granger, looking as lovely as ever.” Percy Weasley beamed at her. “Care for a bit of a catch-up session?”

“That sounds nice,” Hermione said, mentally comparing Rolf and Percy and deeming Percy to be the more innocuous of the two. “Shall we?” Draco hoisted Teddy out of her arms and swung him onto his shoulders. Ron twirled Verity, George’s assistant, within arm’s reach, and Rolf caught her. Dismayed, Verity pushed Rolf away. He fell abruptly onto his bum. 

“Miss Granger, a little help?” Rolf asked, but she had already disappeared with Percy in tow. 

~ ~

“How’s the Ministry been treating you lately, Hermione?” Percy thrust a glass of blood-red wine under her nose. 

“It’s been busy,” Hermione said evasively, suspiciously sniffing the drink for signs of real blood. “Hopefully, things will calm down a bit in the new year.”

“I was just curious because I noticed that your department has ordered a set of rather expensive glass and gold cauldrons from mainland Europe. Do you mind my asking what you’re planning to brew with them?”

“That must be Severus’s doing,” she sighed. “He has plans for projects, but I still don’t know the full details. Your guess is as good as mine at this point.”

“You are the department head, Hermione,” Percy scolded. “It is your duty to know exactly who is ordering what, and for what purpose.”

“I may be magical, but I am not some kind of superhuman, Percy!” Hermione’s temper flared. “I’ve never run a department before! I’m still learning the ropes. In the meantime, you’ll have to trust me to get things in order.”

“I worry about you!” Percy burst out. “You’re so young and inexperienced. And there’s something fishy about those cauldrons!”

“You and your cauldrons!” she screeched. “No one has ever cared, and no one will ever care about cauldron bottoms, Percy Weasley!” 

The dancers nearest the arguing pair paused and tittered. Percy flushed, his face tinged with the same color as his hair. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself, and I refuse to be a part of it,” he said, marching away with head held high.

Hermione sank into a chair that was at hand, her fighting spirit draining from her in an instant. She was so very tired. 

“May I have the next dance, Miss Granger?” 

Hermione opened her eyes. There before her, resplendent in his black and purple finery, stood one Severus Snape. 

“Hermione,” she corrected automatically. He chuckled. 

“Is that a yes, then?”

“Yes. I think. One minute.” Feeling as though she’d been Imperiused, she wandered back to Luna’s side. Luna looked at her with concern. 

“You look like you’ve been attacked by nargles.”

“Severus just asked me to dance,” she reported.

“And?”

“And I think I said yes. Why did I say yes?”

“You said yes and then left him? Go back to him, for Merlin’s sake!”

“But we parted on such bad terms last time we talked.” 

“Perhaps this is your opportunity to kiss and make up.”

Hermione snorted as the self-playing instruments that Narcissa had booked at the last minute struck up a lively tune. Snape approached her, a coal-black eyebrow arched in amusement. Luna gave her a small shove. “Don’t be an arse, Hermione,” Luna murmured. “You’ve known Mark for a few hours. You’ve known Professor Snape for years. Give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Joining Snape on the floor, Hermione was not sure what to do with her hands, where to look, or what to say. Arms crossed, Snape faced her, mute and completely unhelpful. Finally, Hermione relented and stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his neck. Without a word, he placed his hands securely on her waist, and they began to sway rather awkwardly. In every direction that the unlikely pair turned, they met the incredulous eyes of their fellow attendees. Hermione could have sworn she could hear the aggressive scratches of Rita Skeeter’s notorious Quick-Quotes Quill. Ginny and Harry, tangoing rather exuberantly, gaped at her as they sashayed past. 

After a few minutes, Hermione could not bear the silence any longer. “For a man who walks with unmistakable grace, your dancing skills are distinctly lacking.”

“Thank you for the backhanded compliment, Hermione, but I’m afraid I always try to match the dancing ability of my partner. It’s the polite thing to do.” 

“You’re evil, Severus Snape.” They returned to the suffocating silence. Soon, Severus began to laugh quietly.

“I’ve never known the insufferable know-it-all to be silent for so long. It must be a record.”

“What do you want from me, Snape? Do you want small talk? Maybe I should observe that private parties like this one are much nicer than the Ministry’s public balls. Then you could provide some factual information about the dimensions of the room, or the number of attendees. If you don’t mind the silence, however, I have been quite enjoying these five minutes of peace.”

Snape shook his head. “I noticed that Percival Weasley was harassing you. It seemed that you came off rather the worse for wear.”

“He was merely being an arse, which is nothing new for Percy, although he did bring up a matter that I would like to discuss with you.”

“Hm?”

“Well, you see, it seems that you have ordered some costly cauldrons that I’m sure are of the finest quality. Unfortunately, Percy and his goons at the Ministry may require some convincing as to the necessity of said cauldrons.”

“And what is your opinion?” Snape asked.

“Me? I think Percy can go stuff his face in one of those cauldrons he’s always harping on about.”

Severus emitted a rich chuckle, prompting a giggle of Hermione’s own. Their hilarity was interrupted by the flash and puff of a magical camera. “Snape laughing, caught on film!” Rita Skeeter boasted, patting her trusty, squat photographer on the back. “I’ll put it on the cover of the next edition of Severus Snape: Sinner or Saint.” 

Snape resumed his customary scowl, but to Hermione’s surprise, he said nothing. She tugged on his sleeve. 

“Severus! Are you really going to let that mad cow get away with this?”

“I have no interest in speaking to the likes of that woman.”

“You’re a better person than I am, then,” Hermione said fervently. “Did you know that I kept her in a jar for at least a week when I was a student?”

He gaped at her for a second before throwing his head back and releasing a bark-like laugh that silenced the entire ballroom. At least fifty pairs of eyes followed his movements as he gathered Hermione close and whispered something into her ear.

~ ~

Hermione plopped into her office’s comfiest armchair, rubbing her temples and trying desperately to forget the events of the previous twelve hours. Thin, sensitive lips brushing her earlobe. Unsettling, dark eyes looming ever closer. “Luna!” she wailed to her concerned Patronus, which was gamboling less giddily than usual. “I need you.” The otter sped off to relay the message to the erstwhile Luna. 

“Miss Granger?” Rolf stuck his head into the doorway. “Oh, good, you’re free. Do you mind if we have a chat? In the strictest confidence, of course.” 

Hermione sighed deeply but made an effort to lift her drooping head and check the vicinity for snooping coworkers. No, she and Rolf were alone together. More’s the pity. 

“Luna will be here shortly, Mr. Scamander,” Hermione said. “I’m sure that whatever you’d like to say can be said in her presence. I must go to the Atrium to collect her.” She rose from her seat.

“Please, Miss Granger, stay for a minute and hear me out,” Rolf replied, his usual earnestness making her feel guilty for hating him so. She sank into the chair again, overcome with dread. 

“Miss Granger, no, Hermione,” Rolf began. Hermione raised an eyebrow, unconsciously imitating a certain Slytherin. “I must confess that your diffidence up until now—which, by the way, is charming in its own way—has kept me from speaking. However, after conferring with your dear friend Molly Weasley and the Minister last night, there is no doubt left in my mind. I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that you caught my fancy from the moment I arrived on your native soil, so much so that I felt that I must carry you off by Portkey you to my own land as soon as possible.” Hermione made an almost inaudible noise of dissent, but Rolf continued without paying attention to anything other than his own voice. 

“But before I get carried away, I must provide my real reasons for propositioning you like this, my dear Hermione.”

“Mr. Scamander, I really—”

“First off, as a person of prominence in American—and, I daresay, British—magical society, it behooves me to find a partner who is worthy of the respect that my name commands. You, Miss Granger, fit the bill most admirably. Second of all—and I should have said this first, now that I think of it—it is the express wish of my beloved grandfather Newt Scamander that I find someone with whom I can share my personal and professional life. At our family gathering only last weekend, he paused during our ritual petting of his favorite hippogriff and said to me, ‘Rolf, you must find yourself a woman. A young man like you needs a wife to keep you grounded, except when you’re flying on a hippogriff, of course. Find a nice girl, a smart and beautiful girl, not too pure of blood, and I will visit her.’ Hermione, you will love my grandfather, and he will love getting to know your mind, once you get over the natural shyness which being in his august presence will undoubtedly induce.”

“Mr. Scamander! Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Rolf! You must—”

“What a delight to hear my name on your lips!” Rolf said energetically. “I knew I would wear you down eventually. Oh, Hermione, you must be wondering why I chose to track you down here, in a completely different country than my own, instead of selecting a lover in my own great nation.”

“No, I—”

“The truth is, once I learned of my grandfather’s stake in your livelihood—he simply raves about what you’ve already been able to produce in this tiny place, you know—I knew that you would be the perfect candidate. As my wife, your career will be assured for the foreseeable future until we have children, of course. We will travel the world in search of fantastic beasts and fabulous magic that no one on this tiny isle has ever dreamed of. Forget this department; forget this old-fashioned, war-ravaged country. You, my dear, can have it all if you’ll have me.” 

“We’ve known each other for three days at most, Mr. Scamander!” Hermione cried. “While I am flattered by your proposal, I suppose, how could you possibly conceive that I would agree to marry you? I’m sorry, but I must definitively decline.”

“There’s the spirit I was expecting you to have from the beginning,” Rolf nodded, seemingly pleased. “Let’s skip the usual business of playing hard to get, Hermione. Whether we date for three days or three years, the outcome is the same in the end. Let’s get it over with and just get married.” 

Seething in exasperation, Hermione grabbed Rolf’s arm. “In the name of Godric Gryffindor,” she retorted as magic slid along their skin where their arms were clasped, “I swear to you that I do not and will never accept your proposal. You could never make me happy, and I would never make you happy. Even if your grandfather were to propose on your behalf, I would not marry you. I swear it.” The magic sealed off with a pop, and Rolf, stung, jumped backwards. Hermione released his arm. 

“I can’t believe you made an Unbreakable Vow to not marry me!” he exclaimed, looking at her as though he did not know her. Which, really, he doesn’t, she thought. 

“You weren’t listening to me! It was the only way to convince you of the truth,” she said rather lamely. It also was just about the most Gryffindorish thing I’ve done in years, she reflected ruefully. 

“You will regret this foolhardy behavior, Hermione Granger,” Rolf said coolly, backing out of the room slowly. “Oh, terribly sorry, Miss Lovegood. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

Luna hopped into the office/library on one foot, saying cheerfully, “It’s quite all right, Mr. Scamander. I’m sure my foot will recover after I wash it in some fresh Erumpent horn juice.” 

“Erumpent horn?” Rolf asked, interested despite his anger. Luna, catching Hermione’s eye, sensed her friend’s desire for solitude.

“Yes, it’s obtained from a very particular forest in South America. Shall we go to the corner pub and discuss the juice purification process?” And steering Rolf by his elbow, Luna disappeared. 

Stroking her wand idly, Hermione wondered if it were possible to Obliviate oneself.


	7. Transitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Severus and Hermione are caught off guard.

“Hermione Granger,” Mrs. Weasley’s voice shouted from one of her infamous Howlers. “The minister himself has informed me that you have turned down Rolf Scamander. Such a well-bred young man with a finger in every pie that your career could desire! I really do think you ought to reconsider.” 

Hermione cringed, wishing that she’d gotten to her mail before Snape had. He had passed the Howler to her in person, grinning wickedly as it burst open before his employer could Evanesco it into oblivion. 

“Rolf has agreed to join us for Sunday supper,” Molly’s voice continued shrewishly. “You will be there to make things right, young lady!” With that last coercive pronouncement, the red envelope and its contents shriveled and burst into flame. Severus silently Vanished the ashes, his mouth twitching. 

“Don’t start, Severus,” she said tiredly. “Molly is right; I probably will live to regret this, though not for the reasons she might think. But it’s too late. I’ve made an Unbreakable Vow not to marry Rolf.”

He gaped at her audacity but said merely, “I think you’re wise. Better to live life on one’s own terms than under the thumb of someone who would lord over you, as Scamander would.”

She flashed a halfhearted smile at him. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get too used to it.” 

~~

“Dodgy cauldrons, eh?” Mark said thoughtfully as he cleared Hermione’s and Harry’s table. The longtime best mates were lunching at their favorite curry joint, and Hermione was filling Harry in on Percy’s news regarding Snape. “A cauldron racket sounds like something that Snape would excel at. Isn’t he some kind of potion maker?” He pronounced potion maker as though it were the equivalent of Death Eater. Hermione stiffened in indignation. 

“He’s the world’s foremost expert in potioneering,” she snapped. “His Wolfsbane potion has helped thousands of lives around the world. I’d like to believe that Severus has better things to do than make shady cauldron deals.” 

“I’m sure that’s what _Severus_ would like you to believe as well,” Mark replied tautly. 

Harry nervously looked between his two companions, who were glaring balefully at each other. “Let me tell you about the French variation on the Wronski Feint that Draco told me about,” he said hurriedly. Hermione trained her glare on the Boy Who Lived To Watch Quidditch. Harry gulped. 

~~

On Friday evening, Andromeda, keeping track of Teddy with an invisible leash that attached to his overnight bag, Flooed to Hermione’s flat. She was obviously distraught, for she brandished her arms without care for the various breakable plaques and awards that Hermione had accumulated for her wartime services. Teddy thought his grandmother’s activity was great fun. He ran about the drawing room, flailing wildly and knocking down every photograph frame within his arms’ reach. 

“Let me get this straight, Andy,” Hermione said, shaking her head over Teddy’s destructive exploits. “Narcissa and Draco are moving to London permanently? And they aren’t planning to keep their weekly engagements with you? Isn’t that rather sudden?” 

“It’s downright hostile, isn’t it?” Mrs. Tonks said savagely. “Cissy said London would be too far for me and Teddy to travel on a regular basis—never mind that Teddy usually spends the weekend in London at Grimmauld Place—and that it would be better for all concerned if we were to slow things down.” 

“I’m so sorry,” the younger woman replied, genuinely sorrowful for her old friend Tonks’ gentle, overburdened mother. “Do you know what brought this on?”

“I suppose Draco wanted to live closer to the Ministry because he’s working there now,” Andromeda reflected. “But I don’t understand why we can’t meet anymore.” 

“Yes, it must seem like a slap in your face. How unlucky that you must lose your sister just when you’ve found her again,” Hermione said sadly. Then, with a studied air of nonchalance: “Will Professor Snape move with them?”

“I have no idea. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” 

~~

Knocking on the front door of the Burrow, Hermione wondered for the umpteenth time what she was doing at Sunday supper. I should pick up a hobby, she contemplated. Something that only needs doing on Sunday evenings between the hours of six and ten p.m. As she pondered the virtues of stargazing, Molly opened the door. 

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re here,” Molly gushed, ushering her into the cramped front hallway. “Rolf is here, thanks to Luna’s influence. Let’s save this department of yours, dear.”

“Molly, I really don’t think …” 

“Hullo, Hermione,” George said, Apparating into the room and startling the two women.

“Really, George, just because you got your Apparation license about half a decade ago doesn’t mean you should Apparate willy-nilly!” his mother scolded. 

George shrugged and planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “Here’s the dilemma, Hermione,” he said solemnly. “If you don’t marry Rolf, mum has decided to wash her hands of your affairs forever. She will not tolerate—and I quote—‘headstrong, self-sabotaging behavior.’” 

“I didn’t mean it that way, dear,” Molly said, looking distressed. 

George continued, “And if you do marry that scumbag Scamander, I’m afraid that I will not be able to resist committing transatlantic pranks on you lovebirds at least once a day during your first year of wedded bliss.”

“George!” a scandalized Molly all but screeched.

“Oh, thank you, George,” Hermione said, stepping up to press a kiss to her favorite Weasley son’s cheek. “You’ve made my decision much easier.” 

“George Weasley, Order of Merlin, Third Class, ever at your service, my lady,” he replied, bowing deeply. 

Sighing mournfully, Mrs. Weasley followed the two young people into the small dining room, into which an inordinately large number of chairs had been crammed. Hermione suspected the use of an Undetectable Extension charm. 

Rolf contented himself with a sneer as he spied Hermione’s entrance, and she was grateful that no scathing remarks were directed her way. Ginny gave her a sympathetic look; no doubt Molly had seen fit to enlighten her of Hermione’s most recent travails in love. Hermione seated herself quickly beside Harry. Luna’s kind face beamed at her from across the table. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Mrs. Weasley said importantly as she settled into her seat at the head of the table, “Mr. Scamander, do permit—” A series of knocks, set in time to the beat of the chorus of Celestina Warbeck’s song “A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love” interrupted her. “Whoever can that be?” Molly wondered aloud. Without waiting for enlightenment, Ron began to tuck into his soup. 

“Thank you for inviting me, Molly, Arthur,” said the newcomer, none other than Xenophilius Lovegood. The slightly hunchbacked, gray-haired man walked with a youthful spring in his step.

“Oh, welcome, Xeno,” Molly said, knocked thoroughly out of joint. Arthur briskly accioed a chair into the already overcrowded room. 

“I’m so glad you could make it, Mr. Lovegood,” Rolf said ingratiatingly, rising to shake hands with Luna’s father. Mr. Lovegood was still standing, having politely refused to take the chair that Arthur offered him, for “I might catch sight of a Wrackspurt, and it would be much easier to chase it if I’m already in running position.” 

“You invited him?” Molly asked Rolf. Rolf nodded vigorously. 

“Yes, indeed. I have a very important matter on which I wish to consult with him.” 

Molly clearly was mystified. What could possibly be so important that Rolf needed to discuss it in the presence of the entire Weasley and Lovegood contingent? 

“We’re waiting with bated breath here,” George said after a minute, when it was evident that Rolf was not going to continue his enigmatic speech. “Do alleviate the suspense before Ron singlehandedly downs this entire feast.” 

Rolf stared blackly at George for a moment before turning back to Mr. Lovegood. “Sir,” he said grandly, “I beg humbly for your permission to seek your exquisite daughter’s hand in marriage.” 

Ron’s fork clattered onto the table, his mouth hanging open and exposing the chewed-up roast beef within. Ginny delicately placed a finger under her brother’s chin, reminding him to swallow. 

“Exquisite is the perfect word for our Luna,” George muttered so that only Hermione and Harry could hear. “Her brand of insanity is truly exquisite. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Hermione slapped him on his arm. “She isn’t so insane that she’d marry Rolf.”

“But-but … it’s Hermione you want,” Molly cried to the smirking young man. 

Mr. Lovegood looked unfazed, his brain probably stewing over some recent absurd development in the Rotfang conspiracy. “I’m afraid my Luna makes her own decisions, Mr. Scamander. Neither you nor she needs my permission to do as you wish.”

“What do you say, my little niffler?” Rolf turned to Luna. Over his shoulder, George mimed the act of vomiting up slugs, while Ron looked as though he might actually puke. 

“Niffler?” Ginny whispered to Harry.

“Yes, niffler,” Rolf said importantly. She’s stolen my most treasured possession: my heart.”

“Hermione, my wee Flobberworm,” George declared gravely. "Come over here and kiss me. How dare you sit quietly in the room, making no noise and pretending you don’t exist?” 

Harry, silent up to this point, let out an unexpectedly explosive chuckle.  
~~

“But Luna, how could you?” Hermione burst out in the safety of Ginny’s childhood room. 

“You aren’t hurt, are you, Hermione?” Luna asked worriedly. “I thought you didn’t like him. And you did vow not to marry him. If you want him back, I’ll return the ring straightaway.” 

“No, you silly goose.” Hermione sighed. “I’m not worried about myself; I’m worried about you. He’s a dolt of the first order. How could you possibly accept his proposal?”

“He isn’t so bad,” Luna said dreamily. “He is the first person I’ve ever met who is interested in magical creatures like I am. He doesn’t doubt their existence. He has faith. I can work with that.” 

“What did he threaten you with if you didn’t accept his proposal?” Hermione asked frantically. 

“Nothing,” the blonde said simply. “Just the opportunity to search for as many creatures as I wish, with him at my side for protection and conversation.”

They were quiet for a minute. 

“I know he isn’t exactly what you envision in a life partner,” Luna said hesitantly. “But as for me … really, what he offers is all I’ve ever really wanted. I’m not like you; I don’t have wizards running around after me, left and right. I don’t have the pick of the lot. And I want a wizard, you know. I’d like to have kids someday, with a coparent I can trust. And I’d like to start over somewhere new, where no one knows me as that odd Ravenclaw in Harry Potter’s fan club.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. 

“Oh, Luna!” Hermione hugged her old friend. “I didn’t know you felt that way. You are lovely. You could have anyone you like.”

“Really?” Luna asked abruptly, even as she sagged in relief against Hermione. “Could I have Ron?”

Hermione pulled away slightly. “Ron? You fancy Ron?”

Luna laughed. “I used to, but then I realized he didn’t have eyes for anyone except you. He still cares for you, Hermione.”

“I know,” she murmured. “But—”

“But there’s the nargles.”

~~

“But wouldn’t your grandfather prefer you to pursue Hermione, Rolf?” Mrs. Weasley was asking downstairs. Her last-ditch plea fell on deaf ears.

“Grandfather likes the sound of Luna very much,” Rolf replied curtly. “And I daresay she will fit into the family much better than Miss Granger would.”

Mr. Lovegood finally seemed to register that the day’s events would mean that his daughter would be leaving him for America. 

“My Luna!” he gasped. “I will miss her terribly.”

“I’ll Floo-call every day, Daddy,” Luna’s voice echoed from upstairs. “And we shall spend every holiday together.” 

Mr. Lovegood looked relieved. 

~~

Scanning the front-page headlines the next morning, Draco choked on his pumpkin juice, prompting Nori to whack him hastily on the back in an effort to save his life. 

“Argh! Nori, I’m all right, thanks,” Draco spluttered. 

“Whatever is the matter, dear?” Narcissa questioned. 

Draco thrust The Daily Prophet in her direction. “See for yourself.”

“LUNA ‘LOONY’ LOVEGOOD AND SCAMANDER TO WED,” Narcissa read aloud. “What a coup for that strange little girl! Marrying into one of the most illustrious families we have left.” 

“Wasn’t Scamander after Granger just last week?” Draco asked. 

“No idea; I’d ask Severus if he still lived with us,” Narcissa replied sadly, eyeing the empty seat to her right. With the move to London, Severus had found his own lodgings elsewhere, and he had neglected to inform Narcissa of his whereabouts. 

“Cheer up, mother, we’ll see uncle later,” Draco said cheerfully. He handed his mother an unopened envelope. “Here, another owl from Andromeda.”

Narcissa let the letter drop from her fingers. “I’m too busy to respond at present; there is still so much unpacking to do.” 

~~

“How unlucky poor Hermione is!” Mrs. Weasley lamented to her husband that evening. “She could have had the most illustrious marriage and career, and she threw it all away. And Luna was there in perfect position to pick up the pieces. I knew she was sorted into Ravenclaw for a reason.” 

“Hermione cannot abide Rolf,” Mr. Weasley said mildly. “She is not a victim here; she made her decision, and I must say that I think it was the right one for her.”

“Not you, too!” Mrs. Weasley huffed, turning away from the balding man. 

He decided to change the subject. “All this talk of weddings has put me in a nostalgic sort of mood. Do you remember when I proposed, Mollywobbles?”

“Oh, Arthur.” Mrs. Weasley smiled in spite of herself. 

~~

“I’m not complaining about the move, mother,” Draco said. “I have my own reasons for preferring London to Gryffindor headquarters. But I don’t understand why you were so insistent, and so suddenly, too.” 

“As you say, the Bagshot manor was too out of the way, and I confess that after all these years in hiding I jumped at the opportunity to mingle more readily in fine society. The company in the Hollow was so limited, you know.”

“So Gryffindor, you mean.” Draco’s sharp gaze zeroed in on his mother’s ice-blue eyes. “Don’t you miss Teddy and Andromeda, mother?”

“Not as much as I missed you, darling,” Narcissa replied after a moment, her voice trembling slightly. Draco gaped at her. 

“Oh, mother, you know that you will always be first in my heart!” 

“Yes, but you were spending so much time with that Potter that I was beginning to feel rather … supplanted, I suppose. And that was hard for me after these few years that I’ve had you all to myself.”

“Not entirely to yourself, or don’t you remember?” Draco asked, his tone suddenly steely.

“Draco,” the warning in Narcissa’s voice is unmistakable. “That time in our lives, in your life, is over. We will never speak of it again.” 

The only conversation for the rest of that breakfast came from Nori, who was fruitlessly attempting to teach Dumby to say “Master Draco.” 

~~

At the last possible minute, as Severus stood in the doorway of the Bagshot manor with his hastily packed belongings and his ear uncomfortably close to the lion-shaped door knocker, just when it seemed that he might have no choice but to cast his lot with the Malfoys yet again, a savior in the form of Minerva McGonagall’s screech owl dug its claws into his shoulder. 

“Merlin’s pants!” Severus swore, rubbing the spots where the owl’s claws had marked its landing. “I have no Dittany; that’s going to leave a scar.”

“As if you don’t have enough scars already,” Draco said with a grin. 

“That’s enough cheek from you, young wizard.” Severus unfurled Minerva’s missive, which the owl had dropped onto the ground. “Now, off with you, Jupiter, before I decide to turn your legs into potion ingredients.” The owl hooted considerately and fled the scene.

“What does our illustrious headmistress have to say?” Draco asked interestedly, watching his godfather’s eyes swiftly skim the parchment. 

“Ah, but there’s the rub,” Severus said with a dark glee. “She has to take a month’s leave of absence to care for the old McGonagall estate. She requires a temporary replacement, and it seems that Hogwarts is most insistent that its erstwhile headmaster do the job.”

“Hogwarts?”

“Yes, it seems that the headmistress’s office sealed her inside until she determined what it wished for her to do. Apparently, the halls have longed for me.”

“But won’t you hate to return?”

“Hogwarts was my first real home,” Severus said soberly. “I have a duty to the school in its time of need.” Under his breath, out of Draco’s earshot: “And I cannot live for another day under the same roof as your mother.” 

~~

“I know that I only recently started at the office,” Severus’s note began, “but I must ask for a month’s leave to put certain affairs in order. I do hope you’ll understand.”

Hermione twiddled her thumbs and leaned back into the comfiest armchair in the office library. 

“Nary a word of explanation, but that’s par the course,” she sighed to Neville. “I suppose this means that I can postpone the cauldron issue until his return, though.”

“Cauldron issue?”

“Ask Percy,” she said gloomily. 

Neville shuddered. “No, thanks.” He waited a beat before saying slowly, “You know, I always wondered how Professor Snape survived that snake.”

“The snake that you killed,” Hermione reminded him, smiling. 

“Through sheer dumb luck.” After a moment’s silence, he said, “I can’t believe you aren’t curious.” 

“Of course I’m curious. I saw the attack, you know. I still dream about it,” she replied softly. Neville made an almost inaudible noise of sympathy. “I even asked him about it, you know.”

“Really? What did he say?” 

“He skirted the question. I can’t say I blame him. It wasn’t a very sensitive thing to ask.”

“Well, he hasn’t had an easy life. I’d say you’d be hard-pressed to ask him anything personal that isn’t potentially traumatic.” 

“That’s so … empathetic of you. When did you change your mind about the professor? You were always so frightened of him.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Neville grimaced, recalling his unfortunate Boggart from his school days. “I just … well, don’t tell anyone what I’m going to tell you now, okay?”

Hermione’s ever-present curiosity was piqued. “Of course not! What is it?”

“I’ve always felt a bit of—responsibility isn’t the right word, since I didn’t know that Snape was innocent at the time—I guess, personal interest, in what happened to the professor because I was there during the attack, too.”

“What?” 

He met her eyes guiltily. 

“Harry allowed me to use his Invisibility Cloak for a few minutes so I could sneak into the greenhouses and rescue some plants that the Order could use during the Final Battle. While I was wrestling with a fidgety Mandrake, I heard a strange voice in the garden behind Greenhouse Three. It sounded almost like Malfoy, but what would he be doing out in the open? I crept out to investigate. And I was nearly right.”

“Who was it?”

“It was a peacock Patronus – and it was speaking with a voice that sounded a lot like Malfoy’s, but it was a bit deeper and, well, more elegant. And it was speaking to Snape. He must have decided to hide by the greenhouses after he was chased out of the castle.” 

“That must have been Lucius Malfoy’s Patronus,” Hermione theorized. 

Neville nodded. “I thought so.” 

“What did he say?” she asked eagerly. 

“Told Snape to meet him in the cave by the Shrieking Shack before his appointment with Voldemort. I think I got a bit cocky. I thought this was my chance to do in two of Voldemort’s right-hand men. So I decided to go to the cave.” 

“On your own? What if Lucius and Severus had turned out to be evil? Oh, Neville. You could have told someone in the Order, at least.” 

“Yeah, in retrospect it wasn’t the best decision,” Neville admitted, scratching the back of his head. “But I was pumped full of adrenaline and anger, and I thought it was as good a way to go as any.” 

“Gryffindor,” she said fondly. 

“Indeed,” Neville drawled in a fine imitation of Professor Snape. Hermione giggled. 

“Anyway, after returning to the castle and setting up the plants and giving back the cloak and everything, I snuck out to Hagrid’s paddock, stole a thestral, and flew out to the cave. But I must have missed the meeting because all I saw was Snape heading in the direction of the shack and Malfoy walking in the opposite direction towards the forest. So I walked around to the back of the shack, hoping to be able to catch Snape when he left. But of course, he never left.”

“Did you hear what was happening inside?”

“Every word,” Neville said sadly. “As much as I hated Snape, that was a terrible way for him to die.”

“But he didn’t die,” she said tremulously. 

“Yes, he lived to snark again.” Neville grinned. “Here’s the thing, though; I think I had a sixth sense that something was off about Snape’s role in the war. I just had this feeling that I absolutely had to help him. So once Voldemort and you lot cleared out, I went into the shack to see if I could do something. I had a little Gillyweed on me, and you know that the scent of Gillyweed has rejuvenating properties.”

“You saved him?” 

“No, of course not. His body was already gone. But the funny thing is, in the middle of the pool of blood where his body must have been, there was a bunch of long whitish hairs.” 

Sipping their tea, the old housemates stared at each other in silent reflection.  
~~

“I’ll miss you terribly,” Luna whispered into Hermione’s ear at the wedding reception that the Lovegoods, with Molly’s reluctant assistance, had thrown together in the space of five days. 

“Think of me whenever you put on those spectacles of Rowena Ravenclaw, please,” Hermione replied tearfully. 

“They’re lost; how many times must I remind you?” Luna said maddeningly, laughing amid her tears. 

“Now who will bide the time with me during the ministry’s fancy-dress affairs?” Hermione lamented. 

“You will visit me, won’t you?” Luna asked. 

“Certainly,” Hermione promised. “Severus has promised to introduce me to the infamous Newt Scamander, so no doubt I’ll be in the States before you’ve had a chance to miss me much.”

Luna beamed. “Oh, I am so glad! I wonder if the American nargles are more powerful than the British species.”

“Nargles, eh?” Harry sidled up to his favorite female friends. 

“None of this nargle business from you, Harry Potter,” Hermione warned. “I could question you about some nargles of your own.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it or is it not true that you and one Ginevra Molly Weasley have decided to take a ‘break’?”

“Did she tell you?” Harry asked, looking crestfallen. 

“I have my sources,” Hermione replied, thinking of her cozy tete-a-tete with Neville a few days prior. 

“It happened on Sunday night. I completely forgot that I was supposed to go to Ginny’s game on Saturday and take her out for dinner afterwards. Draco had invited me to check out his new place, and I just … wasn’t thinking, I guess. While everyone was busy hashing out Rolf and Luna’s business at dinner on Sunday, Ginny pulled me aside and ended it.”

“Harry Potter, that was not acceptable behavior on your part,” Hermione said severely.

“I know, damn it!” For a second, Harry looked almost wild. “This week has been horrible. I’ve been going over everything again. I love Ginny, so how could I have completely sidelined her? I feel like I don’t know myself anymore. And George says she’s bringing Adrian Pucey to Sunday supper.”

“Oh, Harry,” Luna interjected sadly. “You must have seen how unhappy Ginny has been lately.”

“I thought she was only stressed about work,” Harry said quietly. “She never told me she was upset about _me.”_

“Maybe she was hoping you would bring it up yourself,” Hermione suggested. 

“I guess.” The three friends watched as Ginny, gaily attired in Grecian-style bold blue robes, sauntered past them and towards the magnificent tiered wedding cake, trailed by a couple of admirers. She served herself a large slice, her bare arms flexing and showing off her perfectly sculpted biceps muscle to great effect. Hermione had always thought Ginny inscrutable. Ginny always had plenty of hangers-on, whereas Hermione considered herself lucky to have managed to hang onto Harry as a friend for so many years. For all of her popularity, though, Ginny was a wall to the world outside her immediate family and Harry. We are alike that way, Hermione realized with a jolt. She suddenly felt more sympathetic towards Ginny than ever before. She couldn’t help but notice that the Quidditch player’s wrist was trembling slightly as Ginny speared a piece of cake with her fork and brought it to her mouth, avidly observed by the men around her. Harry’s normally expressive green eyes were shuttered, a testament to the Occlumency skills he had gained since the war. Hermione touched his elbow. 

“All will be well,” she said uselessly. 

~~

It transpired that Lucius Malfoy’s ghost had a penchant for the halls of Hogwarts. _No rest for the wicked,_ Severus thought, pained, as he patrolled the corridors late at night, shadowed by the merciless phantom. 

“I thought you were a figment of my dreams, but it seems you were real all along,” he muttered. 

“As real as a ghost can be,” Lucius said, remarkably cheerfully. “I was tied to the castle, you know. I died here, after all.” 

“Here?” Severus was astonished. “Not in the shack?”

“In the kitchens.”

“But how did you get there?”

Lucius’s ghost shrugged. “Not sure. I was too busy dying to pay attention, you see.”

“If I’d known you were here all along, I would have returned much sooner,” Severus said. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Dying instead of you wasn’t enough of a favor?”

Severus groaned. “I didn’t ask for that particular favor.”

“Nonetheless, you took it and ran with it.”

“Semantics,” Severus brushed off the point, shivering when the irate Lucius swooped through him, dousing him in an icy chill. 

“Well, ask me your favor. I’m in a mood to be entertained.”

“The thing is,” Severus began stiffly, “I’d like your forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness?” Lucius choked out a bark-like laugh. “Ho! Why should I forgive you?”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, perhaps?” Severus offered weakly. “I can’t sleep for want of it.” The last words sounded as though they’d been tortured out of the dark man. The ensuing silence was tenser than any Severus had ever known. 

“You will earn my forgiveness when you have performed a deed worthy of it,” Lucius said at last. 

Severus spread his hands and raged, “I have nothing left to give, Lucius. I am just a lonely, bitter man trying to find a reason to continue living in this Merlin-forsaken hellhole of a world.” 

“When the time comes, you will know what your task is,” Lucius said mysteriously. He began to float away in the direction of the kitchens.

“Lucius!” Severus called stormily. “Come back here at once!”

“Ta, headmaster,” Lucius’s disembodied voice echoed in the darkness. “We shall meet again when the time is right. Send my boy and my wife to see me once in a while, won’t you?”

~~

_Professor McGonagall,_

_Why is it that no one cared to inform me – and Narcissa and Draco, for that matter – of Lucius’s conversion to ghosthood? Such oversight would not have been countenanced during my tenure as headmaster of this school._

_Impatiently awaiting your feeble excuses,_  
_Severus Snape  
_Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry__

~~

_Professor,_

_It has been five days since my last letter, and yet not a peep out of you has reached me. I apologize if my words were unduly rude. I wrote hastily. You know me too well to take my words at their face value._

_Sincerely,  
_S. Snape__

__

~~

_Minerva,_

_It has now been a fortnight since I last heard from you. I am no longer concerned about the matter of Lucius’s ghost; rather, several issues have arisen at the school, and I find that it would be nice to discuss matters with my old colleague (emphasis on the “old”), even if it is by owl. Please respond as soon as possible (and not “at your convenience”)._

_S. Snape_

~~

_Minerva,_

_You know better than to worry me like this. Have I hurt your feelings irreparably? Hogwarts needs you, Minerva. I need you._

_Severus_

~~

_To Professor S. T. Snape_  
_Headmaster’s Office_  
_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry_

_It saddens me to inform you of the passing of Minerva McGonagall, Order of Merlin, Second Class, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, and Emeritus Member of the Wizengamot. A reading of Madame McGonagall’s will is scheduled for next Friday at 4 p.m. in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. As a beneficiary, your presence is strongly encouraged. In the event that you cannot attend the reading of the will, a Ministry representative will be dispatched to your home to inform you of the contents of your inheritance. _

_Cordially yours,_  
_Daphne Greengrass_  
_Office of Magical Legacies and Loopholes_  
_Ministry of Magic, London_


	8. Largess and Enlargement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which gifts are forced upon our heroes.

“Special delivery for a special lady!” Mark’s voice carried down the front hallway of Twelve Grimmauld Place, surprising the adjoining room’s occupants. 

“Squibs! Filth of their fathers!” shrieked the portrait of old Mrs. Black. 

“Helga’s drawers,” cursed Harry, clapping his hands over Teddy’s tender young ears. “I should have warned Mark about Sirius’s mum.” 

“Mark?” asked Andromeda curiously. 

“Take the first door on the right,” Hermione called. A few moments’ later, a visibly embarrassed Mark, laden down with packages elaborating various delicious smells, shuffled into the living room. 

“I come bearing victuals,” he said mock-pompously. 

“Thank you, kind sir,” Hermione replied with a laugh and a curtsy. 

“Good to see you, man,” Harry said, patting Mark on the back. “A day that I don’t have to cook is a blessed one.” 

“Any time,” Mark said with a wink. “Neat place you have here. Mind if you give me the grand tour?”

“Of course! Wait till you see Kreacher’s new bedroom.” 

“Kreacher?” Mark asked as Harry shepherded him out of the room. 

“So.” Andromeda turned on Hermione with a purposeful glint in her eyes. “This Mark is a kind sir, is he?”

“He’s an old crony of Harry’s,” Hermione said. “I really don’t know him well.”

“I reckon you want to know him better, though,” Andromeda said wisely. “He is certainly easy on the eyes.”

The younger woman flushed, thinking of Mark’s perfect white smile and tanned complexion, so different from the pale skin and slightly uneven teeth that had glowed above a perfectly tied cravat as their owner whispered honeyed words into her ear. The lackadaisical ease and careless posture that was so different from the graceful wall of muscle and black silk that had comforted her as a cat-child, shielded her from a full-blown werewolf, and even cured her of Dolohov’s curse. 

“It’s all rather complicated,” she said weakly to Teddy’s grandmother. 

“He seems to be an easygoing sort of young man, and he certainly seems interested in you,” Andromeda conjectured. “Your life has enough stress as it is, dear. He could be the very thing you need.”

“I want uncle Draco!” Teddy whined suddenly. Hermione seized upon this fortuitous change of subject, failing to note the tightening of Andromeda’s knuckles around Teddy’s waist. 

“Have you had a chance to catch up with your sister, Andy?”

“I haven’t heard from her since she left the Hollow,” Andromeda said flatly. “I only worry for Teddy’s sake. Draco has stopped by once or twice for a few minutes, so that is fine, but Teddy did get attached to Cissy as well. I have no idea how to explain why Granny Cissy never comes by with Nori and Dumby anymore.” 

“It is so odd. I thought you had patched things up between you two.”

“Let other quills dwell on misery,” Andromeda replied, her air that of a conductor bringing a symphony to a halt. “I have resolved to put Cissy out of my mind. I am sure she has reasons for her behavior and that they are logical enough. In due course, I have no doubt that I—that Teddy—shall be fine.” 

“You are too good, Andy,” Hermione murmured. “I have no doubt that Tonks learned her tolerance from you. So willing to believe the best of people. Whereas I—I am too willing to do the opposite. I have met so few people of whom I truly think well. The wizarding world and its people are too inconsistent for me, I sometimes feel. Look at Luna and her marriage! How could she have married that rascal of a Scamander? And what of the cauldrons?!” 

“Cauldrons?” 

“Never mind,” Hermione said hurriedly. 

“Hm.” Andromeda glanced speculatively at the agitated young witch. “You know, dear, I think that Luna will be a steadying influence on this Scamander. They do have important interests in common. I think that it will be an agreeable match to all in the end. It could have been stranger. She could have married Professor Snape.” 

“Professor Snape?” Hermione was appalled. “I don’t think he has spoken two words to Luna since returning from the dead.” 

“Among the purebloods with whom he and I have been associated, that wouldn’t matter. Moreover, he is, quite possibly, the most eligible bachelor in wizarding Great Britain, and he has been spending a great deal of time with your set. And Luna is pureblooded, pretty, and intelligent. All things that a man like Snape would value.”

Hermione scoffed. “I highly doubt Severus would want a witch as, well, impractical as Luna, dear though she is.”

“What would you know about _Severus’s_ type, hm?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t presume to know anything of importance about _my employee.”_ After a pause, she asked hesitantly, “You don’t think Severus had anything to do with Narcissa’s actions, do you?” 

“How many times does the poor man have to save the wizarding world before he is regarded without suspicion?” Andromeda sighed. “If it gives you any consolation, I doubt Severus cares for Narcissa any more than he cares for you.”

Hermione wasn’t sure whether to be offended or relieved. 

~~

_Hermione,_

_The United States—or America, as the Americans prefer—is so interesting! Everything is larger here: the food, the animals, the homes! I quite enjoy it and look forward to my own inevitable enlargement. Rolf is very kind to me, and we are to meet his grandparents after we take a week’s honeymoon in the Galapagos Islands. Did you know that the tortoises in the Galapagos are even older than Professor Dumbledore was at the time of his death? I am sure they must possess their own form of magic._

_I miss you!_  
Your friend,  
_Luna Lovegood Scamander_

~~

_Hermione,_

_Rolf’s grandparents are just lovely. They remind me of my father and mother when mother was still alive. They have been all around the world and know so much, and they showed me artifacts from their adventures. I believe you would like them, but perhaps you would not approve of them. Rolf informs me that they are “hippies.” Does this mean that they enjoy fairy hips in their tea? I must ask them._

_I miss you more, I’m sure. And no, I’m not pregnant—at least, not to my knowledge! I meant “enlargement” in a more metaphorical sense. I hate to quote Professor Trelawney, but your mind can be so hopelessly mundane at times. I wish you would subscribe to The Quibbler; it would help broaden your mind._

_Lots of love and head shaking,  
Luna_

~~

_Dearest Luna,_

_I’m afraid I’m a hopeless cause. Find the lost spectacles of Rowena Ravenclaw, and perhaps I might “enlarge” my mind. The Scamanders sound like they were made for you, dear. By the way, a hippie is a type of muggle who—well, ask Rolf, he might be able to explain it better._

_I received your father’s urgent owl this morning and would be honored to attend the reading of Professor McGonagall’s will on your behalf._

_Your incorrigible friend,  
Hermione _

~~

“Hermione.”

“Severus.” 

The tall man bent over the outstretched hand of the wan young woman standing in front of him in her funeral black. He pressed a soft kiss into her palm, so quickly that she wasn’t sure it had even happened. She backed away abruptly, breaking the contact. He caught sight of a tartan anklet as the hem of her heavy black robes swished away from her heel-clad feet for an instant. _A minx after Minerva’s own heart._

“Are you well?” he asked solicitously, following her at a safe distance. It would not do to frighten her away. 

“As well as can be expected, thank you,” she replied, falling back into step with him. “I was shocked to hear about Minerva.”

“As was I.” 

The pair pauses by the newest fountain that graces the Ministry of Magic’s grand Atrium: an oddly abstract affair of misshapen granite through which venerable carved faces of Wizengamot members of old occasionally jut and then recede back into the stone. Hermione is unsettled to notice Minerva’s face suddenly pop out at her, wink, and then wink out of existence. Severus lays a steadying hand on her forearm. 

“She was always very proud of you three,” Severus remarks, seemingly casually. “You were her most prized pupils.”

Hermione’s smile is a grateful but ephemeral thing. “Perhaps not quite as prized as you might think. I am actually here on behalf of Luna, not myself.”

“Miss Lovegood? She is a beneficiary?” 

“Apparently. She is in New York, however, with her new husband, so she asked me to stand in for her here.”

“It may be that the Lovegoods and McGonagalls are related. The old pureblood families always are.” 

“I hadn’t thought of that, but it doesn’t matter. Luna is a dear girl, and I’m so glad that Professor McGonagall is rewarding her. It is only her just due.” 

“So you bear no ill-will towards Miss Lovegood for being favored over yourself in this matter of your favorite professor’s estate?” 

“I am not so shallow, Severus,” she snapped. “Luna is one of my best friends, and I assure you, I hold Professor McGonagall in as high esteem as I always did. My sorrow is entirely due to the loss of an incredible witch whom I shall miss deeply. I don’t appreciate being needled unnecessarily.” 

Severus tipped his head and changed the subject. “How are matters proceeding at the office? Any news of cauldrons?”

She scowled blackly. “If I never hear the word ‘cauldron’ again, it will be too soon. Percy has been owling me daily regarding the legal consequences of purchasing illicit cauldrons.”

“There is nothing illicit about the cauldrons I wish to purchase, I assure you.”

“Explain that to Percy, please. I have enough to work myself into a frenzy over without having to deal with this situation.”

“Oh? What is it that has rendered your hair even more uncontrollable than usual?”

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Do you take joy in insulting me? Don’t answer that.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was being insulting. ‘Uncontrollable’ isn’t an inherently malicious word.”

“Do you remember my fourth year, when I was hexed to make my teeth enlarge? And you said you saw ‘no difference.’ You have a history of being purposely insulting to me, sir. I’m not naïve, you know.”

He eyed her for a few moments, at her pupils dilated and cheeks flushed with the adrenaline of their verbal skirmish and the blue crackle of her magic lending an added sheen to her black attire. “Naïve isn’t the word I’d use for you, Hermione.”

“Oh?” 

“And I certainly see a difference now. You are not the obnoxious, precocious little girl that you were then.”

“No?”

“I mean, at a superficial level, certain things—and I’m not talking about your teeth—have—what is the word you used? _Enlarged.”_ Severus smirked. 

“Severus Snape! Is that any way to speak to your employer?”

“I’m talking about the size of your hands, witchling. They’re now the perfect size to handle an illicit cauldron. Why, whatever did you think I was referring to?”

“Never you mind, you horrid wizard. And I told you not to speak to me of cauldrons, illicit or otherwise.”

“Duly noted.” 

A wizened little wizard hopped onto the ledge of the fountain and magically enhanced his voice to address the gathering. _“Accio_ chairs!” Chairs of all sorts zoomed towards them, some with surprised Ministry employees already seated upon them. 

“Trust Diggle for this sort of incompetence,” Harry muttered, sliding onto a footstool next to Hermione’s armchair. Severus tutted from a fluffy pink papasan chair on her other side. “Minerva couldn’t have found someone else to handle this?”

Hermione supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to learn that Harry was to receive a bequest. She studiously ignored the stab of pain at her old Head of House’s neglect of her most academically decorated student. “Dedalus is a very nice wizard, even if he is a little demented.” 

Next to her, Severus suddenly stiffened. “I don’t think Diggle is the one in charge here,” he said in a monotone. 

Before they could ask him what he meant, the most beautiful young woman Hermione had ever seen, Fleur excepted, ascended to the fountain ledge, joining Diggle. Her flowing, wavy golden hair slithered down her back and sides to barely skim the ground. Her cornflower blue eyes, which matched the color of her robes, scanned the faces of the people before her, her rosebud mouth pursing slightly as she met Hermione’s and Severus’s gazes. She had a cold elegance that seemed otherworldly to Hermione. 

“She looks like someone I know, but I can’t think who,” Harry said thoughtfully. 

_“Sonorous.”_ The young witch’s magically amplified voice seemed to float over the crowd. She sounded, Hermione felt, like ice and wine. “Good afternoon,” the woman said. “My name is Daphne Greengrass. I represent the Office of Magical Loopholes and Legacies. I will be personally overseeing the transfer of the legacies that Mr. Diggle shall read from Professor McGonagall’s will. Please visit my office at any time if you have any questions or concerns.” Her blue gaze returned to Severus. She appeared to be vibrating with a barely suppressed emotion. “Shall we begin, Mr. Diggle?”

Diggle unrolled a relatively short piece of parchment. “This should be quick, my dears. Minerva had a small but valuable inheritance that she wished to give to you. First,” he cleared his throat noisily, “her collection of historical racing brooms is to be given to Mr. Harry Potter, for the enjoyment of his future wife and family.” 

Harry looked rather green as Daphne produced the brooms from a beaded bag at her waist and levitated them over to him. The rest of the onlookers clucked sympathetically. The knowledge of his breakup with Ginny had made it into _The Daily Prophet_ only a couple of days ago. 

“Next, a set of first-edition Transfiguration tomes and paperwork restoring ownership of _The Quibbler_ is to be given to Miss Luna Lovegood.” 

Hermione stood. “I will be accepting the bequest on Luna’s behalf, as she is currently out of the country.” 

Daphne trained her gaze onto her old schoolmate. A teetering pile of thick textbooks and loose parchment zoomed towards Hermione, threatening to knock the breath out of her as they crashed into her chest. Harry and Severus hastily steadied her and helped her place the stack onto the ground in front of her. 

“Professor McGonagall owned _The Quibbler?”_ Harry asked, astonished, as Diggle and Daphne continued to walk through the series of bequests. 

“I always wondered how Xeno afforded printing costs,” Hermione said. “This explains it, but it doesn’t make sense why Professor McGonagall would have bought him out.” 

“Perhaps Miss Lovegood could provide some insight,” Severus pointed out. 

“I don’t know; it seems awfully nosy.”

“Ah, the insufferable know-it-all has gained some scruples, despite the perfectly juicy mystery dangling in front of her nose? You _have_ changed.” 

“Speaking of noses, did you know that you have a massive one? It’s on your face, right there”—Hermione reached out and touched it gingerly—“so you can’t possibly miss it.”

Harry was watching the two of them with a look of mingled horror and fascination. “Hermione,” he hissed, “you just _touched Snape!”_ The two friends waited with bated breath for Severus’s answering fury, which would, no doubt, be magnificent. 

“By all means, continue your inspection, Hermione,” Severus said after a minute, enjoying their palpable nervousness. “I don’t mind a little touching, now and then.” 

“No, I don’t think I shall,” she rejoined, her color returning. “Certain things about you might—what was the word? _Enlarge.”_

Harry looked scandalized, while Severus merely looked amused. 

~~

“We have reached the final bequest,” Diggle announced. “Miss Greengrass, are you ready to do the honors?” Daphne nodded. “All right, then: the McGonagall Scottish and Derbyshire estates are to be gifted to Master Severus Snape. Minerva makes a note that no amount of protestation will be countenanced. The gift is non-negotiable. Minerva hopes that Professor Snape will use his new homes to house his future family and assist his future wife with her professional endeavors.” 

Another stack of paperwork emerged from Daphne’s beaded bag, this time landing with a flourish at Severus’s feet. 

“Circe’s knickers,” Severus and Harry said together, completely awed. 

“Future wife and family?” Hermione asked. 

“Professor Snape,” Daphne called in a strained, unsubstantial voice that was barely audible over the scraping of the chairs and the tumult of the dispersing crowd. “May I speak to you for a moment? As regards our mutual friend.” 

Severus nodded and beckoned her over as he slipped the estate parchments into an inner pocket of his cloak. Hermione suspected he had made liberal use of an Undetectable Extension Charm. Daphne glided over to their small group. Severus greeted her, but all Harry and Hermione could hear was an annoying buzzing sound: the wizard had employed a _Muffliato,_ curse him. 

“What is _that_ all about?” Harry asked Hermione in an undertone. 

“I don’t know,” she said. She watched as Daphne laid a fine-boned hand on Severus’s shoulder. An emerald-and-diamond ring adorned her finger. “But I can find out.” 

One of Hermione’s first research projects after the war was to craft a counter spell for the Half-Blood Prince’s ingenious _Muffliato._ It wasn’t widely useful, as the only people who knew how to cast _Muffliato_ were Hermione’s two best friends and the Prince himself; however, the process of creating it had instilled a love for spell design in its maker, so Hermione was very fond of it. 

_“Blabbadeo,”_ she thought, subtly pointing her wand towards Severus. Instantly, the ringing in her ears suspended, and she and Harry could catch snippets of the Potions master’s hushed conversation. 

“She is a right mess these days,” Daphne was saying, her cultured tones lapsing into something vaguely Cockney in her distress. “You have to fix it.” 

“Why must I fix it? I have nothing to do with the cause of her anger. In any case, your sister is an intelligent witch; she is more than capable of handling her own problems.” 

“Women can be irrational when they’re in love; I should know.” Daphne’s fingers tightened momentarily on Severus’s shoulder, her ring glinting in its reflection off of the fountain water. “She can’t think straight. You owe her your help.”

“I don’t owe anyone anything,” Severus replied, his eyes flashing. “I’ve wasted enough years in atonement for my misdeeds. I live for myself now.” 

“If you don’t help her, I’ll—I’ll reveal everything to Percy Weasley,” Daphne said with a manic gleam in her beautiful blue eyes. 

Severus chuckled humorlessly. “Be careful, Miss Greengrass. Your inner Slytherin is showing, and we can’t have that, can we?”

Daphne tossed her head. “I may have tried to distance myself from my old housemates since the war, but I will always be a Slytherin.” 

“You have a funny way of showing it.” Severus shook off Daphne’s hand. “I will do everything in my power to help, but only because I’ve already promised Astoria to do so. You don’t need to dirty your pretty hands to do her bidding.” 

“Thank you, sir,” she said, chastened. “I’ll be seeing you this weekend, yes?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” 

~~

Hermione resolved to put the Greengrass sisters out of her mind. All the same, she was rather quiet as she traipsed out of the Atrium next to Severus. He was chivalrously holding Luna’s gift in his arms. 

“I’m afraid I must ask you for a couple more weeks of leave,” he said. “I have to sort out this business of who will take over the headmastership before I can return to the office.” 

“Why do you have to do that?”

“Didn’t you know? I’ve been the acting headmaster for the past few weeks.” 

“Couldn’t you have told me that, instead of being all mysterious about your whereabouts?” 

“You could have asked. I would have told. I’m surprised Longbottom didn’t tell you.” 

“Pomona gave him the month off to study for his Herbology board exams, so he couldn’t have known. You never give over an inch, do you?” she sighed. 

“I’ve never claimed to be an easy man.” 

“Anyway, are you sure you wouldn’t like to become headmaster yourself? This could be the perfect opportunity to make up for that abysmal year when you were first headmaster.”

“Trying to get rid of me, are you?”

“No, I’m just curious.”

“It’s a thankless job, being headmaster,” Severus confessed. “Endless administrative work on top of dealing with dunderheaded miscreants of both the student and the professor varieties. It doesn’t exactly compare with the freedom to conduct independent inquiry.” 

“But what of your Slytherin ambition?”

“Ambition comes in many forms, Hermione. I’m only beginning to discover the extent of mine. And how exactly would I be expected to support my future wife and family if I were cooped up in the headmaster’s tower all day and most of the night?”

She had no answer.


	9. Nargle americanus: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes cross the pond.

“Have you finished packing for New York?” Neville asked three weeks later as he tiptoed tentatively around the mess in the laboratory. 

“Almost done! I’m just trying to track down some beetle juice for Severus. It must be in this cupboard somewhere.” Hermione’s voice was slightly muffled, for she was buried in the back of the adjoining storeroom. Bottles and containers of various shapes and contents flew out of the cupboard and landed higgledy-piggledy onto the laboratory floor. 

“If Snape could see this room now, he’d give you a detention and take 100 points off of Gryffindor,” Neville said with a shudder. 

“He’s going to meet me at the Portkey site, so there’s no chance of him seeing this place before we leave,” Hermione said, emerging triumphantly from the storeroom with a vial of reddish-brown liquid clasped in her hand. “Winky! Would you mind cleaning up this place after I leave? I’ll give you a bonus at the end of the month!”

Winky—the only elf that Hermione would permit the Ministry to hire for her office, for she was a free elf—popped into the room and visibly shuddered at the chaos. “Miss Hermione is not being careful!” she squeaked. “Many dangerous things is in this room.”

“Constant vigilance, Hermione,” Neville said with a grin. 

“I know, I know,” Hermione said unrepentantly. “Yell at me when I return, Winky; I’m going to be late for my Portkey!”

~~

“In two minutes you would have been late,” Severus said, tapping his wand against his palm impatiently. He had been waiting for her in the Ministry’s Portkey office for the past fifteen minutes. 

“Technically, I am still early,” she said primly. “Good morning to you, too.” She placed an index finger on the Muggle pencil sharpener that the bored security wizard at the front desk had given Severus. 

“It will be six a.m. in the States when we arrive,” Severus noted. “How shall we amuse ourselves before we have to present ourselves at the Scamanders’ house?”

“I don’t know about you, but I promised Luna I’d visit her straight away.” 

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less.” 

“Then do something else! It’s a free country.”

“I’ll go downtown,” he decided. “Muggle New York City is always interesting.” 

“Oh! I’d love to do that.” 

“But you’re visiting Miss Lovegood and her illustrious blackmailing husband.”

“If the Minister himself hadn’t forced me to put up with you, I would have hexed you three ways to Sunday, Severus Snape.”

The Portkey began to glow, and without warning, Severus pulled Hermione close into his side. Her woolen Muggle-style trench coat was soft against his fingers. She could feel the heat of his body warmth and instinctively snuggled closer. His grip on her waist tightened as they began to spin. 

~~

“Hermione! Professor Snape!” Luna’s airy voice greeted them as they landed shakily on the tarmac. Severus gently released Hermione’s waist, sliding his hand backwards to rest on her lower back. 

“Luna!” The two old friends hugged. “Where’s Rolf?”

“He had a meeting at the Centers for Wizarding Disease Control this morning,” Luna said. “He’ll Portkey back to join us for supper at his grandparents’ house.” 

“Oh, so you can show us around New York City until then!” Hermione enthused. Severus groaned. 

“Merlin help us,” he groused under his breath, as Luna immediately began gushing about the physical beauty of the Mermen that frequented Ellis Island and lured Muggles to the New World. 

~~

“You look terrible. Like, Dark Lord-era terrible.” 

“Gee, thanks.” Harry’s head dropped with a _thunk_ onto the stack of parchment before him, paying no notice to the blond man slouching against the wall of his cubicle. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, Potty?” 

Harry’s head whipped up, fury etched into the premature lines of his face. “You, actually.”

“I’m giving you this headache? Sixth-year me would be so proud.” Draco smirked. 

Harry stood, unfolding his limbs with care. “You know what I can’t figure out?” he said, stabbing his wand into the front of his ex-nemesis’s robes. Draco had the decency to look a little frightened. “What your angle is. Is this all a game to you and your mother? Returning to the wizarding world, infiltrating our lives, turning everything we’ve worked so hard for into hippogriff dung? Do you even care about the lives you’re wrecking?”

“What are you on about?”

The auror released a short laugh that was more a puff of exasperation than of amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“Potter. Harry.” Draco placed a placating hand on the other man’s shoulder, concern written all over his face. “Tell me what’s on your mind, and I promise to help as much as I can.”

Harry distractedly tousled his black hair. “Andromeda. Teddy. Ginny.”

“Believe me, I’m as frustrated with my mother’s behavior towards my aunt as you are. I’m working on it, though. I miss having Aunty Andy and the little man over for tea.”

Harry studied Draco’s face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but the Slytherin seemed genuine. “Fine. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help on that front.”

“I think that what you’re really worried about is the She-Weasel,” Draco said after a moment. “You know, she’s been seen at the Leaky Cauldron with half of the Kenmare Kestrels. It’s all over the _Prophet._ You can do better than running after a sl—”

“Shut it!” Harry’s wand was back, this time in Draco’s face. “Ginny taught me her version of the Bat-Bogey Hex, and I won’t hesitate to use it if you say a word against her.” 

“What’s the matter, Potter?” Draco jeered, his pale face alight with an almost manic gleam. “Your famous name not enough to get you into your witch’s bed anymore? Did Weaselette figure out that your scar is the same size as your—”

“Malfoy!” Harry roared. _“Tarantallegra!”_

Draco’s feet began to tap-dance uncontrollably, but it didn’t stop him from casting a furious _Serpensortia_ at Harry, who Vanished the snake that erupted from Draco’s wand with a lazy flick of his own wand. Draco growled and began unleashing a stream of hexes, which Harry parried with hexes of his own. 

“Enough!” shrieked a normally composed whale Patronus, which had sallied into the cubicle during the impromptu duel. “Mr. Potter, what is the meaning of this? I refuse to clean up after the mess that you’re undoubtedly making!”

Harry and Draco calmed down immediately at the sound of Gigi’s voice. To Harry’s surprise, he thought he saw a tear rolling down Draco’s cheek. “Malfoy, get out of here. I can’t do this anymore. I thought you’d changed, but evidently, I was wrong.”

Draco pushed himself up from his defensive crouch on the ground. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to change, Potter,” he spat. “Maybe then you’d still have your witch.” 

“You’re the reason she left,” Harry shot back. “All that time you and I were spending together…” 

Draco looked strangely triumphant. “I can’t be blamed for you preferring to spend your time with me.” 

“It was temporary insanity on my part, I assure you,” Harry retorted. “It won’t be happening again. Get out. Now.” 

Draco chortled. “Don’t worry, I’m going. I have zero interest in staying here.” He was almost out of the room when he said offhandedly, “Now you know how it feels to be abandoned by the person you love.”

Harry gaped at Malfoy’s back. “Malfoy! What was that supposed to mean?”

Draco was already gone. 

~~

“This afternoon wasn’t so bad, was it, Severus?” Hermione whispered as a chatty Luna led the way from her house to the abode of Newt and Porpentina Scamander. 

“It was surprisingly adequate,” Severus grudgingly allowed. “The American wizards have integrated with the local Muggles in an interesting way.” 

Hermione positively twinkled at him. “Yes, wasn’t the Knight Cab a substantial improvement over the Knight Bus? I especially enjoyed the complimentary Barry Botts’ Every Flavor Cashews.” 

“Finally, knockoffs that are an improvement on the original,” Severus acknowledged. 

Without quite realizing it, Hermione found that her arm had been commandeered by the dark-haired man. She squeezed his hand. “I think New York agrees with you, Severus.” The tops of his high cheekbones pinked slightly. 

“That may not last long,” he murmured, gesturing subtly to the frog-like man awaiting them on the front stoop of the Scamander manse. 

“Rolf!” Luna squealed, jumping into her husband’s arms. 

“Luna tuna!” 

“For Circe’s sake,” Severus muttered, tucking Hermione closer into his side as if to protect her from the snogging couple in front of them. 

“Kissing isn’t infectious, you know,” Hermione said reprovingly, but she was grinning. 

“Shame,” he replied, so softly that she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. 

~~

“Luna, sweetheart, you’re glowing!” Porpentina, or Tina, as she insisted upon being called, said, bestowing a chummy hug upon her granddaughter-in-law and grandson.

“It must be all the Squib-fed salmon I’ve been eating,” Luna said happily.

Hermione looked indignant. “They feed Squibs to the salmon?”

“Nonsense,” Rolf said with an air of great patience. “Squibs raise the salmon. Luna just has a funny way of speaking sometimes, don’t you, sweetness?”

“Now, now, Rolf,” said a quiet, gentle voice. Hermione and Severus followed the voice with their eyes. A slightly stooped, thin gray-haired man with the most alive eyes that Hermione had ever seen was framed by a doorway a few feet behind the front door. He was wearing a frayed Muggle jumper and neatly pressed denims. “One doesn’t act condescendingly towards one’s wife or one’s guests.” Turning to the guests in question, he said heartily, “How now, Severus? And this must be the Miss Granger that so cruelly refused our Rolf!” 

Hermione blanched, while Severus broke the grip she had on his arm to walk forward and shake Newt Scamander’s hand. 

“Miss Granger, I don’t bite, though some of my creatures might,” Newt said with a sweet smile. Hermione hurried forward to shake his hand. 

“Please call me Hermione. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” 

“Only first names are allowed in this house, Hermione,” Tina interjected. “We don’t stand on formality in this country.” 

“Newt, then.” Hermione smiled as the old man nodded approvingly. 

The group adjourned to the dining room, where a lavish spread of various vegetarian dishes had been heaped onto a table that could have easily seated a group triple their size. “Tina and I don’t eat meat,” Newt said apologetically. “We value animal life far too much.” 

“I can’t imagine what barbarities you must think I commit for the sake of my craft,” Severus said. “I can’t count the number of beetles whose eyes I have gouged in order to make a simple Burn paste for the school infirmary. And that’s just one creature I have been forced to desecrate.” 

“I couldn’t do what you do for a living, that’s for certain,” Newt replied. “But needs must, I suppose.”

“You have a lovely home, Tina,” Hermione said into the silence that followed. 

“Thank you, but Newt designed and furnished it himself. I was too busy fighting crime at the time, you know.” 

“Crime?”

“I worked for the American ministry for—what was it?—fifty or so years, my dear,” Tina said proudly. “I was an auror. They still call me in to consult for especially tricky cases.” Hermione looked suitably impressed. 

“You’re a decorated war hero yourself, aren’t you, Hermione?” Newt asked. “Harry Potter’s best friend.” 

“Yes, but I decided that the auror life wasn’t for me.” She smiled weakly. “I prefer to work behind the scenes. Libraries and laboratories, that kind of thing.”

“The most important lesson that I’ve learned from living in America is that it is absolutely crucial for a nation to foster research and innovation,” Newt remarked. “You’re doing vital work, my dear. I’m glad that the British ministry is backing your department.” 

“It wouldn’t have been possible without your help,” Hermione said earnestly. 

“Ah, yes, the new research department,” Tina said. “To be so young and running your own office! How old are you?”

“With a full roster of employees for whom I must appear qualified, you can hardly expect me to reveal my age.” 

Tina and Newt seemed impressed by her cheek. Indeed, Newt laughed, a good full-bellied chuckle. 

“But, really, how old are you?”

“I am not yet two and twenty.” 

Severus flinched slightly at this information; fortunately, nobody noticed. 

~~

Rolf was very quiet throughout dinner, for which Hermione was grateful, but she hadn’t anticipated almost equal reticence on Severus’s part. 

“I can’t carry the conversation on my own any longer,” she hissed into his ear as her old Potions professor escorted her into a magnificent library. 

“Why not? You’re doing remarkably well.”

“You’re the one who brought me to this country! Wasn’t there some kind of project that you wanted Newt’s assistance with?” 

“All in good time, witchling.” 

“Would you like to see some of my treasures, Hermione?” Newt asked, coming up to the Potions master and spells mistress. They made an unusual but dashing pair, he rather thought. “Severus has seen a few of these, but I think he’d rather take a turn about the bookcases.”

“You know me too well, Newt,” Severus said. 

“Oh!” Hermione looked longingly at the books arrayed by color around the room. “That does sound lovely, Newt, but I simply must look at that compendium of ancient American spells!” 

“Go for it,” Newt said with an honest smile. As Hermione made a beeline for the book in question, he said quietly, “She is perfect for you, Severus. Albus used to mention as much to me.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Severus said stiffly. “Albus can’t possibly have thought such a thing. I was her teacher at the time. She was just a girl.” 

“Albus was uncanny about these things,” Newt said mysteriously. “I’d advise you not to wait too long to sweep her off her feet. You aren’t getting any younger.”

“You and Albus were cut from the same cloth. Minerva, too. You all think you’re so clever,” Severus growled. “Always trying to control me, even from the grave. I am not so easily manipulated.” 

“We only want the best for you,” Newt said mildly. “And Hermione is the best. Now, what is this project that you want my advice for?”

~~

“This may seem a bit awkward,” Hermione said to Tina, who had come up to where Hermione was ensconced in an armchair with the spell book. “But I am sincerely sorry about the to-do with Rolf.” 

“Yes, he told us about that Unbreakable Vow you made in order to prevent marrying him,” Tina replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It was the kind of thing I might have done once.” She handed Hermione a slice of freshly baked blackberry pie. “No hard feelings, my dear. It all turned out for the best, even though Newt was dreadfully disappointed at first. Luna is a wonderful girl, and she’s exactly what Rolf needs.” 

“Do you think Rolf is what Luna needs, though? She doesn’t know anyone here, and even though she’s always been a bit of a loner, she deserves to be cherished.”

“Look at them, Hermione.” Tina pulled her to the end of the stacks in which she had been hiding and pointed out where Luna, telling some kind of fanciful tale, was sitting on Rolf’s lap. Rolf’s frog-like mouth was agape; he was looking at Luna as though she was the most fascinating insect he’d ever seen. “Rolf has always talked a big game to cover up for his insecurities. He’s finally found someone he’s more interested in than himself. And I can guarantee that he will always pay more attention to Luna than that poor girl has ever gotten.” 

“They’re an odd couple, though, aren’t they?”

“They’re Rolf and Luna Lovegood Scamander. They were never going to be perfectly normal, thank you very much.”

~~

“It was a lovely evening, wasn’t it, Hermione?”

“Yes, Luna,” she replied, smiling at her old friend’s dear visage. “Tina and Newt are darlings.”

“I’m ever so glad you liked them. I love them very much.”

“They will always look out for you, dear. You’re very lucky.” Then: “Luna, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Professor McGonagall’s bequest.”

“Oh! Yes, what was she kind enough to pass on to me?”

Hermione opened her beaded bag and relinquished the set of Transfiguration tomes and _Quibbler_ documents. Luna quietly perused the materials, her protuberant grey eyes misting.

“Oh, Hermione,” she whispered. “The professor thought of both of us: daddy and me. I love these books. And it will mean so much to daddy to have complete control over his publication again.” 

“If you don’t mind my asking, Luna, why did Professor McGonagall have ownership of _The Quibbler?”_

“It wasn’t something we advertised, but daddy was in rather dire financial straits for some time. People weren’t exactly in the mood to buy _The Quibbler_ during the war, even though it was the only news source that wasn’t controlled by the Death Eaters.”

 _That is debatable,_ Hermione thought, recalling when Mr. Lovegood was so desperate for his kidnapped daughter that he was willing to turn in Harry Potter to the Snatchers. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Xenophilius Lovegood had descended to the level of curating his content to please Voldemort. She wouldn’t dream of voicing her suspicions to poor Luna, however. 

“Professor McGonagall kindly offered to buy the rights to _The Quibbler_ from daddy, which made things easier for us for a while,” Luna was saying. “It was a good arrangement. Daddy got to continue to write and edit. The only stipulation was that the professor had final say in approving each article. She only really interfered a few times. The last one I remember was about a year after the war. Daddy had uncovered information that Professor Snape was really alive and running a covert potions ring based in France, but Professor McGonagall couldn’t bear the thought of ruining Professor Snape’s good name. She was convinced then that he hadn’t survived the snake, of course. She thought Daddy’s article would constitute besmirching the dead.” 

“You mean your father believed Severus was alive?”

“Yes, and he had evidence that the professor was not only alive but also running a black market business. Daddy had receipts and everything.”

“Receipts?”

“Yes! You see, the professor was pretending to be selling these expensive, brand-name cauldrons. But each cauldron batch purportedly arrived filled with a class IIIa substance. Something that only someone with the skills of Professor Snape could acquire or brew.” 

“That’s … interesting, Luna.”

“I know you don’t believe it, Hermione. I fully believed it until recently, when I realized he couldn’t possibly sell such horrible potions. He is so responsible, you know.” 

“How long have you known about this cauldron business, Luna?”

“I knew by the first Ministry ball, but I didn’t like to say anything about it because you weren’t in the right frame of mind,” Luna admitted. “You would have believed it and confronted the professor immediately. But you and he are in a better place now.”

“If anything, Luna, I understand him less than I ever did. Your story fills in many of the gaps in his history.” 

“Hermione, you have a questioning mind,” Luna said gently. “I think you should weigh the evidence before you jump to any conclusions about the professor. He never receives the trust he deserves.”

“There is a difference between blind trust and stupidity,” Hermione cried. “I have regarded Severus with suspicion for quite some time now.” 

“Oh, Hermione, Professor Snape has such a loving, strong heart!” Luna said. “Perhaps you are too close to him to see it. Don’t ruin everything by confronting him before you’ve had a chance to think things through clearly.” 

“You never used to question your father’s stories, Luna,” Hermione said, a stubborn look crossing her pretty face. Luna felt a deep pang of regret, recognizing that the battle was lost. 

“I’ve grown up,” Luna said quietly. “I’ve learned to think twice about any story—my father’s stories included—before forming a decision about how to proceed. Fighting in a war will do that to you. Maybe it’s time for you to grow up a little, too, Hermione. Your first impressions aren’t always going to be right.” 

“You know that I thoroughly research everything,” her friend responded. “I like to believe that I try to know everything about a subject before forming my own ideas. All the evidence I have seems to point to something decidedly fishy about Severus Snape. I can’t just ignore that, Luna.” 

“I’m not asking you to ignore it! I just think you don’t have enough information. Moreover,” Luna continued hesitantly, “I think you’re ignoring the professor’s own behavior, especially towards yourself. He would never do something that you couldn’t condone. His moral code wouldn’t allow it.”

“Moral code? This is a man who took the Dark Mark willingly and who committed Merlin knows how many crimes in the employ of Voldemort. A man who dealt in obfuscation for the better part of his life. Why are you romanticizing him?”

“His motives have been pure for the last twenty years! He changed for the sake of love! What could be more romantic than that?”

“What does that have to do with cauldrons, Luna?”

“I don’t know!” Luna burst out. “But a man who would do everything in his power to ensure the victory and survival of his enemy’s son, for love of his enemy’s wife, is not the kind of man who would stoop so low as to sell dodgy cauldrons!”


	10. Nargle americanus: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tensions--and Daphne Greengrass's nose--are high.

“It’s time to start thinking about the reelection campaign,” Minister Dawlish said as he sipped from a steaming mug of hot chocolate. “Shacklebolt told me last night that he refuses to be my running mate for another term.”

“Oh, how unfortunate! Kingsley has such presence, you know.”

“I do know. I have reason to believe that his aura of credibility is the reason I even won the last time,” Dawlish said broodingly, looking as though he were contemplating whether it would be possible to drown himself in hot chocolate. “I have no chance of maintaining my office if I cannot find an equally irreproachable deputy.” He eyed his companion over the top of his mug. “This is where you come in.”

Molly gasped. “What do you mean, Minister?”

“I mean,” Dawlish said slyly, reaching across for Molly’s hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, “it’s about time we broke that glass ceiling, eh? Who better for the role of second in command than the cause of Bellatrix Lestrange’s defeat?”

Molly looked flattered but suspicious. “But I have no experience in politics! I haven’t worked anywhere but the Burrow since starting my family.”

“You have plenty of experience, even if no one knows it. Half of the decrees that I’ve managed to slide through the Wizengamot were edited by your expert hand. The best thing that I’ve done as minister is to befriend you.” 

“I’ll have to talk to Arthur about this,” Molly said slowly. “I’ve never coveted a public life, but if you really need my help …”

“Take as much time as you need. There is only one fly in the Pepper-Up Potion that I can foresee.”

“Oh?”

“Your daughter’s recent behavior – cavorting with children of known Death Eaters … ending her relationship with Mr. Potter…”

Molly bristled. “My daughter is going through a rough patch, Minister. I don’t appreciate your insinuations.”

“Believe me, Molly, I personally couldn’t care less as to what Ginevra does behind closed doors. I know how difficult it is to live in the public eye. She would do well, for her family’s sake, to keep her private life, well, _private.”_

“I quite agree with you on that point,” Molly sighed. “I’ll have a word with Ginny.”

~~

For the next two weeks, not a day went by without the elder Scamanders spending at least some of their time with Severus and Hermione. Newt, Hermione, and Severus squabbled over theory, while Tina pursued her own projects, perusing dossiers and making heated Floo calls to the American aurory. The intensity of these meetings inevitably left Hermione crackling at the edges with her signature blue flames, which Newt and Severus observed silently and admiringly. Newt often referred to her as “Tina the Younger”—the highest compliment he could conceive—and Severus threatened to douse her with a good _Aguamenti._ Tina called all of them idiots. 

Hermione had finally unearthed the subject of Severus’s first hoped-for project: a treatment for the wizarding form of attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder, which manifested as children literally bouncing off the walls in addition to poor performance in school. The usual Muggle treatments were rendered ineffective by wizarding children’s magical core. 

“Why do you want to work on this, Severus?” Hermione asked interestedly one morning. 

“I was an educator for most of my adult life, Hermione,” Severus said. “A teacher cannot hope to teach if his or her students literally cannot stay in their seats. Without a cure, I have no hope for the future of wizardkind.” 

“How magnanimous of you,” Hermione said in surprise. 

“I have been known to be selfless on occasion.”

The Scamanders entertained the most scintillating guests for dinner on most evenings, and Hermione and Severus were given a standing invitation to attend. Hermione was awed by the famed intellectuals who descended upon the unassuming Scamanders to partake of Newt’s English roast and Tina’s boysenberry pie. On the second-to-last night of their stay, Tina owled to inform them that the night’s dinner would be a “black-tie affair,” an announcement that left Severus mystified. 

“Who are the black ties? Are they some kind of American gangsters?”

“Gangsters? Do you think this is the 1950s? I thought you were half Muggle, Severus. Black ties indicates that formal attire is required.”

Severus looked momentarily sheepish but rallied valiantly. “I’d like to forget about my Muggle side, if you please. My father never attended a so-called ‘black-tie’ event; I don’t think he even owned a tie.”

“Well, you, sir, shall wear a tie tonight. Let’s see if we can scare up one of Rolf’s suits to go with it.” 

“And you? Will you be wearing a black tie as well?”

“Did you ever see a James Bond film at the cinema when you were little, Severus?” Hermione asked impishly. “Did the Bond girl wear a black tie, hm?”

Severus eyed her speculatively. 

~~

“Hermione, here you are at last!” Tina practically dragged the younger woman into the foyer. Severus had left the hotel almost an hour earlier, citing an urge to seek a private audience with the Scamanders’ latest guests. Hermione hadn’t minded; she didn’t often dress up in Muggle attire, and she wanted some extra time to primp. So here she was, stuffed into an uncomfortably tight one-shouldered purple gown with black heels—only an inch and a half high, as she hadn’t mastered the art of tottering fashionably in stilettos; her curls, half down, were the only unconstrained part of her. She hoped she and Severus wouldn’t stay long. If the food was too decadent, then her stomach might burst out of her dress, and then where would they be?

“Have you met Leila and Edward?” Tina asked, ushering Hermione into the dining room, where the party was already seated and tucking into the soup. 

An ethereal middle-aged woman and a balding man faced her. They looked uncomfortable in their Muggle business suits. “How do you do, Miss Granger?” the woman, Leila, said politely. “I’m told you’ve met our daughter, Daphne.” 

“Ah, yes,” Hermione said quickly, her mind scrolling all too easily to the stunning witch who had seemed to know Severus intimately at the reading of Minerva’s will. “We must have attended Hogwarts together. I’m surprised we were not better acquainted.”

“I transferred to Beauxbatons at the end of our fourth year, so we didn’t get a chance to know each other well,” Daphne herself answered. She was sitting on the other side of her father, perfectly poised in a little black dress that Hermione instantly envied. Her floor-length hair was swept over one shoulder and gathered into a fishtail ponytail. _The whole presentation was truly remarkable,_ Hermione thought, feeling dowdy in her nicest Muggle clothes. The spells mistress slid into the chair across from Daphne. 

“Miss Granger, is it?” came a querulous voice from Hermione’s left, causing the young witch to jump in her seat. The speaker was a hunched woman in a shapeless black dress and black tulle veil, offset by several strings of pearls around her neck. She looked as though she were in eternal mourning—for what, Hermione did not know.

“Yes,” Hermione replied politely. “And you are?”

Newt began, “My daughter—” 

“My aunt Liz,” Rolf interrupted from one end of the table. 

“And mine,” Daphne said charmingly. “Aunt Liz married my father’s brother. Uncle Henry passed away long ago, though.” 

“Kept my last name,” Liz Scamander said gruffly. “Only surviving child of the famous Newt and Tina, aren’t I?”

“I’m going to keep the Scamander name going now, aunt Liz,” Rolf said pompously. “No need to worry.”

“You can’t give birth, though, can you?” Liz scoffed. “Luna is the one who’ll have to pop out future Scamander brats.”

“Liz! Rolf!” Tina scolded. “I’m sure Newt and I don’t mind what happens to the Scamander name, one way or another.” 

“Ah, Severus,” piped up Edward Greengrass, who had been silent up until this point. “Speaking of the continuance of lines, I do believe that the house of Snape will have an heir in the not-so-distant future?”

“Yes, Severus,” said Leila eagerly. “The McGonagall inheritance demands it, does it not?”

“What’s this?” asked Newt. 

“Minerva McGonagall’s homes have been bequeathed to Professor Snape,” Daphne explained, “for the express purpose of housing his future wife and children. If he does not fulfill the terms within the next five years, the houses will have to remain empty forever.” 

“I didn’t know that there was a deadline,” Hermione said, turning for the first time to the professor, who was sitting next to Newt at the head of the table. Severus looked distinguished in the Muggle tuxedo that Luna had rooted out for him from the dregs of Rolf’s walk-in closet. His black tie was especially sharp, Hermione mentally noted. 

“All good things come with a catch, don’t they, Hermione?” Severus replied. He was leaning back, his hands steepled in front of his face, his elbows splayed on the arms of his chair.

“When’s the wedding, Severus?” Newt joked, passing a fruit salad to Luna. 

“August would be lovely,” Leila said, looking meaningfully at her daughter, who was twisting the emerald-and-diamond ring on her finger almost absently. “That would provide plenty of time for Daphne to get her trousseau in order.” 

Hermione choked on the pea soup. “Daphne?”

“Nothing has been decided yet,” Severus said smoothly. “I entrust everything into Daphne’s capable hands.” The splendid ring on Daphne’s finger, having attained a new significance, seemed to glint mockingly at the room’s occupants. The room fell silent. Even Newt seemed to be at a loss for words. 

“Congratulations,” Hermione said at last. “I’m sure you two will be very happy.”

“Your congratulations are premature,” Daphne said cuttingly. “I have much to do before I can even think of wedding arrangements.” 

~~

“Severus, you can’t mean to marry Daphne,” Liz said loudly once the group had adjourned to the library for after-dinner drinks and canasta. “She’s far too young for you.”

“Love knows no age,” Edward said solemnly. 

“What can I say, Liz? I am powerless against Daphne’s charms,” Severus said, an undercurrent of anger lacing his otherwise placid tone.

“I find this topic too dull for words,” Daphne complained. “Can someone please pass me a cocktail?”

Hermione moved away from the group at large, her head swimming. She felt … empty, as though she’d lost something precious she hadn’t known she’d had, and now that it was gone there didn’t seem to be much point to anything. She wanted very much to go home, back across the vast ocean to her cat and her apartment and her parents. _Mother!_ she thought plaintively. After an interminable time, during which she tried and failed to absorb the first chapter of a book about magical child development, she felt a familiar hand close in on her arm. 

“Hermione,” Severus said softly. There was a queer light in his dark eyes. “Let’s take a walk.”

~~  
 _10 Hours Before The Walk:_   
“Ginny, please talk to me,” Harry pleaded, following his ex-girlfriend down the halls of the auror department. Ginny had spent the afternoon there to sit in on her father’s latest seminar, this one on Muggle sports. She enjoyed frequenting Muggle pubs with her teammates and wanted to understand the workings of the football games that played with regularity on the pub television screens. 

“I have nothing to say to you that I haven’t said already, Harry Potter,” Ginny said wearily. Her red hair, worn down for once, shone brightly despite being floors underground and away from any natural light. It swung tantalizingly as Ginny walked rapidly, taunting Harry. 

Harry finally managed to catch up to the star athlete. “I miss you, Gin,” Harry whispered, clutching Ginny’s arm. 

“No,” Ginny said fiercely. “You don’t get to do this again, Harry. You don’t get to push me away and then run back to me when you’ve decided you have time for me.”

“I didn’t mean for it to seem that way,” Harry cried, stung. “You never said anything to me. This breakup just came out of nowhere.”

“Oh, really? You spend all of your leisure time with Draco Malfoy, of all people, instead of your own girlfriend, and you think this breakup wasn’t justified?”

“Gin, I’m so sorry,” Harry said, his voice breaking. “I messed up. I … I can’t do this. This life without you. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t work. Please. Please, just one last chance.”

“Harry,” she said softly. “I love you. I really, truly do. But I can’t be taken for granted. Listen to yourself. Everything you’re saying – it’s all about how you feel, how you can’t handle this. What about me? When do my feelings get their turn?”

Harry turned white. “I’ve been so selfish, Ginny. I recognize that now.”

“Yes, well, realizing it isn’t good enough. I’m going to need more than that to come back to you, Harry.”

“I’ll do anything!”

“Prove it,” Ginny said, turning with a flounce and fleeing into the nearest elevator. The elevator doors slammed on Harry before he could enter behind her. 

~~

_10 Minutes Before the Walk:_  
“How long have you been reacquainted with Severus, Miss Granger?” Edward Greengrass asked, sidling up to Hermione in her favorite hideout in the library. 

“Oh, not too long,” Hermione said politely, mentally cursing the wizard for ruining her moment of introspection. “He joined my department, you see.”

“Ah.” Edward Transfigured a book into a hardbacked chair that he drew up next to Hermione’s comfy papasan. Hermione internally flinched at this blatant mishandling of a precious text. “You don’t know him too well, then. No wonder you were surprised to learn of his engagement to my daughter.”

“I daresay even Professor Snape’s closest confidants know little about him,” Hermione said stiffly. 

“Professor? Not even on first-name terms yet, I see.”

She refused to dignify this conjecture with a response.

“They have been betrothed for the past two years, since our France days,” Edward continued. “They make a fine-looking couple, will they not? They will be a fine addition to Pemberley.”

Hermione thought of the reading of the will, of Daphne clutching Severus’s robes. Of blonde locks next to deepest black. 

“Yes, they do,” she said quietly. “But what is Pemberley?”

“Oh, my dear,” Edward chuckled, an air of superiority infusing his words. “Of course you wouldn’t know, being raised as a Muggleborn. Pemberley is the name of the McGonagall’s seat in Derbyshire. A grand old manse indeed. The very air there verily palpates with ancient pureblood magic.” 

“It sounds like Daphne will fit right in.” Daphne of the elfin looks and polished accent. Daphne, to whom Minerva’s will must have been referring when she wrote of Severus’s wife and family. 

“I daresay Cissy Malfoy will be disappointed,” Edward said wryly. “She’s been trying to stick her talons into Severus for the longest time, starting when her husband wasn’t yet moldering in his grave. Even though she knew about Severus’s commitment to Daphne.” 

Hermione made a noncommittal noise, though her curiosity was piqued. 

“She even owled me recently.” Edward barked out a short, unamused laugh. “Wanted to know if I knew where Severus was living. Hiding, more likely, from Cissy. A man can only take so much. She was beginning to regret moving to London. She only moved there in the first place because of Severus.”

“What?”

“Oh, yes,” Edward said, relishing the topic. “Severus was going stir-crazy in Gryffindor’s Hole, or whatever it’s called. He was tired of associating with Cissy’s Muggle-loving relatives, even though Cissy was enjoying her reconciliation with her sister. So the ever-prudent Cissy decided to move and cut ties with the lot.” 

Hermione couldn’t believe what her ears were processing. _Severus_ was responsible for the break in relations between Narcissa and Andromeda? _Severus_ was the reason why poor Teddy had been abandoned by yet another well-meaning relative? 

“Edward, I think I’m coming down with a fever,” Hermione said. “I might have been bitten by a”—she cast about frantically for an excuse to push the odious gossip from her presence—“nargle. You might want to stay away.”

“Oh, dear,” Edward tutted, backing away from her corner immediately. “Do take care, Miss Granger. I’ll inform our hosts.” 

“I’d be much obliged to you.” 

~~

_10 Seconds Before the Walk:_  
“What a scoundrel Severus Snape is! My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever,” Hermione muttered. There was no joy in this pronouncement. Just emptiness.

In another country, a decidedly drunk Ginny Weasley found herself sitting next to a pregnant young witch at Harry’s and Hermione’s favorite Muggle pub across from the Ministry. “I’ve been hoping to meet you, Miss Weasley,” said the witch. 

“Sorry, who are you?” Ginny slurred. It was very late in Britain, but Ginny had lost track of the time—and of the number of beers that she’d consumed. 

“My name’s Astoria. Astoria Greengrass,” responded the witch, stroking her baby bump. There was no joy in her pronouncement. Just emptiness. 

~~

_The Walk:_  
"Hermione," Severus said softly. There was a queer light in his dark eyes. "Let's take a walk."

Hermione allowed herself to be led out via the French doors opening onto the Scamanders’ fragrant herb garden. Severus steered her over a bridge that traversed a koi pond. Even if a person were on the Scamanders’ balcony, he or she would not be able to spy on the researcher and her employee. Hermione’s mind was still buzzing with the injustice that Severus had done to Andromeda and Teddy, and she did not speak. Severus was clearly on edge, and when his companion remained silent, he cracked.

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Astonishment was an understatement. “You—you cannot be serious.”

Severus frowned, affronted. “Have I ever been less than serious?”

“I don’t know! It turns out I don’t know you half as well as I thought I did.”

“I promise you that I’ve never lied to you.”

“So you’re saying you—you love me? But you’re engaged to another witch!”

Severus snorted rudely. “Engagements can be broken.”

“What a terrible thing to make light of! Lives are ruined with that kind of carelessness.” 

“I won’t marry a witch I care nothing for,” Severus said stiffly. “It’s you I love, much as I hate to admit it.”

Hermione chuckled mirthlessly. “If you hate it, why did you even mention it to me?”

“I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression from tonight’s dinner. The whole business with the Greengrasses …” he trailed off. 

“Believe me, Severus, I’ve had a bad impression of you for quite some time now,” Hermione said, circling him. “Take your love and stuff it into that tuxedo of yours. I will never enter into a relationship with you, romantic or otherwise!”

“You’ve gone mad, witchling,” Severus said, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his chest. “You could have it all: endless galleons for your research, the most magical mansions in the British isles, the social security of aligning yourself with another war hero. I know you. I know you were disappointed that Minerva didn’t bequeath you anything. Oh, my dear, Minerva McGonagall most certainly did reward you, if indirectly. _You_ are the future Madame Snape that she intended to grace the grand staircase of Pemberley. Think twice before rejecting my suit.” 

“You think you’re so wonderful, don’t you, Severus Snape?” Hermione whispered, nose to nose with the dark wizard. “It shouldn’t take you long at all to get over me. You so hated to admit to your love, after all.”

“Don’t be an imbecile,” Severus snarled, even as he curled his fingers into her hair to keep her from moving away. Her curls began to crackle with the blue flames of her anger, but he ignored the licks of heat that threatened to burn his fingers. “Of course I am not pleased to find myself in this position. I don’t approve of you on the whole. Your management of your department needs work, despite the promise you bring to it. With the exception of tonight and the occasional ball, you dress like you’re going to a poor man’s funeral. Your heart bleeds for those who do not deserve it. Not to mention that your choice in friendships is subpar at best. Do you think I rejoice in your relationship with Potter? Or Longbottom? Or the insane Miss Lovegood?” 

“How. Dare. You?” Hermione seethed. “You think that due to your full pardon and Order of Merlin, First Class, and supposed riches, I’d date you, let alone _marry_ you? You think that I’m supposed to listen to you insult me and all my friends, and somehow still grovel at your feet for your so-called _love?_ You can’t buy me, Snape!” She was panting, and her eyes were flashing fire; in that moment, Severus was practically a mirror image. It wasn’t much of a surprise when his lips descended upon hers, nor was it surprising when she responded to the sudden punishing pressure. All of that adrenaline had to be expended in some manner. 

“You’re fired,” Hermione gasped when she finally pulled away from the kiss. Severus’s hands had traveled to her waist, and she had a death grip on his black tie. “I want your things out of the office and out of my life as soon as we get back tomorrow.”

“Really, Miss Granger?” Severus said mockingly. He squeezed her waist. “Your actions belie your words.”

“It was either kiss you or hex you,” she said. “The kissing won’t happen again, I assure you.” 

“I could swear, Miss Granger, that you had softened towards me.”

“That was until I learned the truth behind this cauldron business. But I could have forgiven that eventually, I think. The final blow was discovering that you were responsible for the removal of Narcissa from Andromeda’s and Teddy’s lives. Do you deny it?”

He was silent, merely watching with her with those unnervingly dark eyes of his, still clutching her close. It finally registered in Hermione’s mind that it was unusual for a garden to be so blooming in the dead of winter; Newt and Tina must have employed considerable magic to render the grounds so lush. She surveyed the tulips nearest her—she felt she would rather look at anything than into the face of the man who loved her against both of their wills.

“If I did anything, it was inadvertent. I did not mean to hurt Andromeda. And I certainly wouldn’t do anything to harm Cissy or Draco. I’ve spent the past three years aton—working for their happiness.”

“Why should I believe you,” she muttered, “when you so cruelly treated Mark Evans?”

“Mark Evans?” Severus pushed her away from him. “How do you know Mark Evans?” 

“Does it matter?”

“It does matter,” he spat, his cheeks bright red. “You seem to know him well enough to take a great deal of interest in his affairs.” 

“I can’t help feeling concerned about him. His circumstances have been so unfortunate.” 

“His circumstances!” Severus said contemptuously. “Oh, his circumstances have been pitiable indeed.”

“Thanks to you,” she shot back. “Your mother wished for you to help him; instead, you engineered his downfall. Lord knows what long con you played on him; I pity these Greengrass sisters for having to deal with your games for the foreseeable future!”

There was a pause. Severus, at long last, issued a cackle. “So this is the sainted Hermione Granger’s opinion of me. Thank you for outlining my failings so clearly. Perhaps you would have been more circumspect in your word choice if I had been less brutally honest about my own thoughts. But I am an honest man. Did you expect me to thrill at the thought of becoming a surrogate Weasley by marrying you? Did you think I would be happy to fall in line with Albus’s and Minerva’s most deeply buried schemes regarding myself? Did you think that if I had any power to choose whom to love, I would choose _you?”_

The anger that had filled Hermione’s being drained suddenly. She seemed to shrink in on herself. She turned away, her head bowed. “I have never had any expectations when it comes to you, Severus Snape. If I have thought of you, it has generally been with the respect I once thought you deserved. But now I see you for the coward that you are.”

Severus started at this, fury setting into his face and taut figure, but he did not reply.

“You talk of honesty, but you are a coward. From the very beginning of my renewed acquaintance with you, you have hidden behind your sarcasm and your disdain and your innumerable layers of robes. You spent years in exile rather than face the wizarding world that only wants a chance to adore you. You are so afraid of manipulation that you are afraid to live. You are afraid to love, so you remind yourself of all the reasons why you should not love. I had not known the new you for a month before I realized that you were less of a wizard than you were during the war, and therefore you are the last wizard on earth that I could ever be prevailed upon to wed.” 

“Enough!” Severus roared. “I can countenance anything but being called a coward, madam. Afraid, you called me? Nay, I am ashamed. Ashamed of what my own feelings have been towards yourself. Forgive me for taking up so much of your undoubtedly valuable time. I wish you the best. I shall return now to my fiancée and friends.” 

And he left her there, both of them shaking with anger and another unnamable emotion, touching their lips with trembling fingers and blasting apart the bridge over the koi pond once he’d crossed it to rejoin the dinner party.


	11. Pensive/Pensieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which certain truths come to light.

Pity for the confused wizard who had just stalked away from her struck her heart, warring with her own pain. He had certainly gone about his confession in the worst possible manner, but she had reacted equally inelegantly. If she hadn’t been so prepared to berate him for his misuse of Andromeda and Teddy, she recognized that it was quite possible that the outcome of their encounter might have been rather different. Perhaps it was better this way, though; she supposed she’d had a narrow escape. The list of Severus Snape’s sins was long and, no doubt, even longer than she knew. His total indifference to Mark’s predicament only sealed her conviction that she had taken the correct course of action.  

After indulging in a good, long cry for the collegial camaraderie she’d precipitously lost, Hermione realized that she had no way of crossing over the Scamanders’ koi pond, for Severus had done a pretty thorough job of destroying it. “Are you a witch or not?” she muttered to herself as she paced up and down the footpath. She tried to Disapparate, but the Scamanders must have put up Anti-Apparation wards—doubtless the paranoid Tina’s handiwork. She was on the verge of stepping into the water to wade across, in spite of the threat of hypothermia, when to her shock a glittering crimson creature materialized in front of her.    

“Fawkes?”

Dumbledore’s erstwhile phoenix glided towards her, extending a glorious feather and chirruping incomprehensibly. Confounded, she reached for it timidly, awed by the vibrant plumage. As soon as she had grasped it, Fawkes shot up into the air.

“Eek!” Hermione shrieked, clutching Fawkes for dear life. The phoenix gurgled as if to giggle. He transported her safely across the koi pond and dropped her gently onto the library’s balcony.

“Oh, what a beautiful creature!” Newt said, hurrying over to them. “Fawkes, I haven’t seen you in decades!”

“What happened to you, Hermione? You look positively bedraggled,” Luna said, concerned.

“Come to think of it, Severus was looking much the same way when he came in just now,” Liz chimed in. “I do hope you two weren’t dueling. It’s much too cold for that kind of nonsense.”

“I’m fine!” Hermione snapped. “Of course we weren’t dueling. We aren’t eleven years old, even if the professor does a fine job of pretending to be a school-aged dunderhead.”

Fawkes clucked in a disapproving sort of way, prompting Newt to chuckle. “I do think Fawkes has found himself a new master in Severus. You’ll have to be careful about what you say about him in this phoenix’s presence.”

“I thought that phoenixes only form a familiar bond with the pure of heart,” Hermione said.

“They do indeed,” Newt said solemnly.

“Is it possible for a phoenix to gauge a wizard’s purity incorrectly?” she asked desperately.

“Not in this particular phoenix’s case. Fawkes is a pretty remarkable beast. He spent his formative years with Albus, after all.”

“I think I have a migraine, Tina,” Hermione said. “I’m going to head back to the inn for some sleep.”

~~

 

She woke up at the crack of dawn so that she could catch the earliest Portkey, which would transport her to London in time to reach her office during normal British working hours. She’d gotten very little sleep and suspected that she’d acquired an actual migraine over the course of the previous evening’s events. A few hours’ disturbed sleep, haunted by her old dream of Snape’s attack by Nagini, did not dispose her favorably towards the world at large.

“Are you absolutely certain that you must leave us so soon?” Luna cried, throwing her arms around her friend’s neck.

“Soon? I’ve imposed on your time for two weeks at least.”

“You could stay for two years, and it still wouldn’t be an imposition.”

“Miss Granger, can I have a moment of your time?” Rolf asked.

Hermione cringed internally but said politely, “Of course, Rolf.” The two of them broke away from the weeping Luna, whom Severus was left to comfort awkwardly on the tarmac. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”

“My grandparents liked you very much.”

“Yes, and I liked them just as much, if not more.”

“The thing is, though, that my grandfather is old—very old. A contemporary of Albus Dumbledore, as you already know. And the other thing is that _I_ still do not like you very much.”

“Such forthrightness is commendable in a man of your self-importance.”

“I just thought you should be aware that the state of funding for your department is still precarious, Miss Granger.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid I must warn you that it would probably be best for you to start seeking alternate sources of funding for your work. I will be starting a family soon, and I probably will need to funnel the money that otherwise would have gone towards your research into a savings fund for my own children.”

“I see.”   

“I just wanted to give you ample warning. You are, after all, my Luna’s dearest friend.”

“How very considerate of you.”

Hermione walked away from Rolf in as dignified a manner as she could summon at 3:30 in the morning. _At least_ , she thought sourly, _I have found someone whom I cannot stand even more than Severus Snape_.

“Our Portkey will be activating in 30 seconds,” Severus said to her in a neutral tone.

“Goody,” she replied sarcastically. “This shall be the highlight of my morning.” 

“Testy,” he remarked, but there was no heat in it. He seemed to have become completely indifferent to her overnight. _The man’s willpower is amazing,_ she thought with grudging admiration. They stood on opposite sides of the pencil sharpener-cum-Portkey, only the tips of their index fingers touching where they overlapped on the tiny item. Yet to Hermione, even that centimeter of contact seemed to burn.

~~

 

“I will have my things moved out of the laboratory within the hour,” Severus said once they landed unsteadily in the Ministry’s Portkey office. “I do have one request, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“What is it?”

Severus reached into his frock coat’s inner pocket and withdrew a small parcel. “You are welcome at any time to Floo into the Hogwarts headmaster’s office to make use of the Pensieve there,” he said calmly. “The office should be quite empty for the next week as I finish interviewing candidates at the Ministry for the headmaster’s position.”

“Whose memories are these?” Hermione asked, curiously turning over the packet of vials that he handed to her.

“For the most part, they are my own,” he responded. “I must ask that you not show them to anyone else. I trust that you will guard them adequately.”

“I will, sir.”

Severus seemed taken aback by her reversion to a formal form of address, but he did not comment. “Good day, then, Miss Granger.”

“Goodbye, professor.”

Quietly, he took her hand in his own and stroked the back of it. He pressed a gentle kiss into her palm and then swept away. She vaguely wondered if she’d ever see him again.

 

~~

 

Life seemed a bit less colorful after the events of the past two weeks. Harry was an emotional wreck on par with his old teenage angst, Ginny seemed to have disappeared from both the general social scene and Weasley family life, Luna was abroad, Neville was studying assiduously for his board exams, and Mark was oddly absent. Even Teddy’s star seemed to shine less brightly than usual, for Andromeda was thinking about sending him to a Muggle daycare for a couple of days per week, and she was trying to train him not to change his appearance spontaneously for the sake of his Muggle teachers’ sanity. Hermione had avoided exploring Severus’s memories for a couple of days, but eventually her incessant curiosity won the day. The niggling thought of Fawkes and his newfound allegiance to the potions master troubled her. She felt that she knew enough of Severus Snape’s story to justify her personal misgivings about the wizard, but something important was missing. 

Gingerly, she peeled open the parcel. A short note lay atop a set of vials containing pearly strands of memories. She pored over the familiar spidery handwriting.

_Whatever you might think of me, Miss Granger,_ the hastily written note began, _neither my character nor my conscience permit the perpetuating of certain falsehoods that you seem determined to ascribe to my person. I have enclosed the following memories—untampered with, as you undoubtedly will note—that should shed some light on my actions and motives of recent years. You are a witch who values fairness, I know. I have no doubt that your observations during your journey into my past will be unbiased and just._

_No doubt you’ll be wondering why I did not reveal all during our little conversation in the Scamanders’ garden. Forgive me; I have always been one whose emotions overpower my judgment at the most crucial junctures. And I have always kept my cards close to my chest in fear that yet another unscrupulous sort will take advantage of me. You are the first person in many years who has tempted me out of my reserve. I trust that you won’t make me rue the day I entrusted these memories to you._

_Farewell, Miss Granger. Three turns into my past should do it._

_Snape_

With a trembling hand, Hermione gathered the three vials into her hands and slipped into the Floo to make a trip to the headmaster’s office.

 

~~

 

“If it isn’t Harry Potter’s thieving friend,” sniffed the ever-posh Phineas Nigellus Black from his portrait high above the headmaster’s desk.

“Nice to see you again, too, Professor Black,” Hermione shot back. “I do miss our old talks. I especially miss shoving you back into my bag at the end of them.” She brandished her resilient little beaded bag at the portrait. Old Headmaster Black merely turned his nose up at her, though she could have sworn that he also gave her the tiniest wink.

“Oh, Phineas, do be kind to the girl,” said another familiar voice. Hermione reeled towards the voice that she had thought she’d never hear again. Next to Fawkes’ old cage, a new portrait featuring a stern-faced witch clad in tartan robes hung proudly.

“Minerva,” Hermione whispered. “I’d forgotten that you’d have a portrait now. How lovely it is to see you!”

“Not as lovely as it is to see you, my dear,” Professor McGonagall said warmly. “Have you and Severus worked out your issues, then? I’m so glad.”

Hermione stiffened. “On the contrary, we’re not exactly on speaking terms anymore.”

The late headmistress’s portrait clucked. “Och, what has that boy done now? I’ve never met a wizard with a greater capacity for ruining things for himself.”

“He told me that he’d been unwillingly manipulated by you and Professor Dumbledore into falling in love with me,” Hermione said softly. “It wasn’t the kind of thing that makes a woman fall into the speaker’s arms.”

“No, it wouldn’t inspire confidence, would it?” Professor McGonagall sighed. “He has always been pants at explaining himself. Give him a pen and a paper, though, and he’ll rule the world. His poem to guard the Philosopher’s Stone was pure genius.”

“And that voice of his,” giggled Dilys Derwent from a portrait not far from Headmaster Black’s. “When he was headmaster and suffering from insomnia, I used to ask him to read aloud from whatever Muggle novel was on his shelf. It was a revelation, if you know what I mean.”

“Dilys!” Phineas Nigellus said, looking scandalized, while Dilys and Minerva tittered and Hermione blushed.

“So you weren’t trying to force something to happen between us?” Hermione asked timidly.

“I’ll let Professor Dumbledore explain,” Minerva said, shooting daggers at the sleeping wizard in the portrait next to hers, “but I know what I saw at the last ball I attended. When I saw you and Severus dancing so closely, I felt in my very bones that it was the beginning of what could be the most beautiful thing in both of your lives. I didn’t do anything, my dear. I merely supplied a wedding gift in advance. Whatever exists between you and Severus is a magic that you have conjured between yourselves.”

“Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione addressed her old headmaster. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Dumbledore’s portrait yawned, and the keen, electric blue eyes met her own. “I have not done anything actively, my dear. I have merely been a witness from afar to the struggle of a man who first wished you were less cunning so that he wouldn’t be forced to pay so much attention to your schoolgirl shenanigans, and then, more recently, wished he could suppress his admiration for his beautiful, brilliant boss.”

“But you must have had some influence! He said you did.”

“I might have suggested to Minerva that Severus should ask Dawlish for a research position at the Ministry, since he was so opposed to returning to the school in an official capacity.”

“With the full knowledge that any research position would have been within _my_ purview?”

“With the expectation that you would possess the openness of mind to embrace Severus for his strengths, rather than judge him for his weaknesses,” Dumbledore said mildly, but the words struck her with a pang of shame. “You always defended him when you were a student. He has rarely had anyone in his corner, my dear. He deserves a chance. He has done so much for us all.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “You sound like Luna.”

“No, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said with a beaming smile. “I sound like the version of you that I once knew. The part of you that I know is still inside of you. Now, why don’t you get down to the real reason you are here, eh?”

She snapped out of her reverie. “Yes, sir.” She turned apprehensively to the ornate cupboard adjacent to a quaintly upholstered window seat. “The Pensieve is in there, Harry told me.” Dumbledore and McGonagall nodded encouragingly. She edged closer to the cupboard, which sprang into action at her approach, as if it had been awaiting her arrival. Its doors creaked open, and a stone basin slid forward, knocking her in the knees. She hurriedly uncapped the first of the vials and tipped it, watching its silvery contents swirl dizzyingly.

“Stick your head into the mist, Hermione,” Minerva called. Gently, Hermione lowered her head into the scene unfolding in front of her.

 

~~

 

_“Draco, what do you hope to accomplish by moving into Godric’s Hollow?” Severus asked, wrinkling his nose as he stared down the street where his old friend Lily had once lived with her husband and child. “You and your mother don’t belong here. You could have purchased Malfoy Manor back from the Ministry if you had wished.” He spied the monument to the Potters at the end of the road and gulped almost inaudibly. Hermione, standing at his elbow, heard the soft sound and looked up into his sad eyes and stoic face._ I’d forgotten that Lily was murdered in a house on this very road, _she realized_. Snape must have hated staying here.

_Draco was quiet for long enough that his godfather had given up on receiving a response. As Severus stepped forward to walk into the house, Draco said, “This is, quite possibly, the most respectable village in wizarding England. It will only help the Malfoy image to rebuild our lives here. And it’s the last place that You Know Who would look to find me.”_

_“The Dark Lord?” Severus queried._

_Draco’s gray eyes were stormy. “Close enough. No, uncle. Astoria.”_

_“Draco—”_

_“I don’t want to hear it. Godric’s Hollow it is, and that’s final.” The Malfoy heir marched forward, flinging open the entrance’s grand double doors and stomping into his newest acquisition. Severus lingered in the doorway a while longer, gazing unseeingly at the ruins of the Potters’ house across the way. He was shaking slightly._

_“There is no end to reliving my sins, is there, Lily?” he said at last. Hermione was so moved by his pain that she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, but of course, memory-Snape could not sense her presence._

_“Severus.” Narcissa Malfoy, elegantly attired in the trendiest of Parisian cloaks, Apparated in front of the house and slipped an arm around the brooding wizard’s waist. “Why aren’t you going inside?”_

_“Cissy,” Severus said politely, moving out of Mrs. Malfoy’s reach. “I thought I’d take a moment to reflect. Now that we’re back in England, it is high time I found a residence of my own. I don’t much fancy living in the lions’ den, as it were.”_

_Narcissa pouted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Severus. You’re family; you belong with us.”_

_“As I recall, your actual family doesn’t live all too far away. Draco tells me that Andromeda and her grandson are popular figures in London society. You would do well to renew your sisterly bond. You will have no need of my company then.” Severus looked as though he cherished the idea of this development._

_“I shall have Nori set out the tea; this moving process has made me famished,” Narcissa said, as though she hadn’t heard his words. She bustled into the house, pulling off her gloves one finger at a time. Severus chuckled and followed her inside._

At this point, Hermione found herself summarily ejected from the memory. She lifted her head from the basin, taking a gasping breath for air. So Severus had _wanted_ Narcissa to reacquaint herself with Andy and Teddy; he could not be faulted for Narcissa’s rejection at all. Moreover, it seemed that Severus was still hurting from the events of the first and second wars. The more that Hermione thought about it, the more she felt indignant about Draco’s inconsiderate decision to transplant his godfather to the site of Severus’s biggest regret. No wonder the wizard was in such a foul mood when Hermione had first spoken to him at the Bagshot manor.

“Knut for your thoughts,” the portrait of Dumbledore said cheerfully, popping a painted lemon drop into his painted mouth.

“Well, I was a right idiot about one thing I accused Severus of,” Hermione replied, looking rueful. “He’s still a git, though.”

“Ah, but he has his moments, doesn’t he?” Dilys said dreamily. Phineas Nigellus cleared his throat. “Oh, Phineas, love, Severus does remind me of you in your heyday. I do love the tall, dark, and snooty Slytherin type.” Phineas spluttered as Dilys walked into his portrait and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Minerva said impatiently. “Hermione, lass, take a look at the next one. Go on.”

Hermione scooped up the first memory and carefully poured it back into its vial. She dove eagerly into the next memory, curious to discover what it was that Severus had wished for her to understand.

_“Snape, good to see ya again after all these years,” a younger Mark Evans said, shaking the older man’s hand and dropping it quickly. “What’ve ya been up to, then?”_

_“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Severus said smoothly. “My mother’s will specifies that you are to be given some help in return for the assistance your late sister provided her.”_

_“Kind of Eileen, innit?”_

_“If you must speak of my mother, you will refer to her as Mrs. Snape,” Severus said stiffly. “In any case, I am planning to leave the country for the foreseeable future. I don’t have any connections that could help you here, but if you like, you can work for the business that I am establishing in Paris. I will pay for your university education in exchange for good work.”_

_“Paris, eh? I don’t speak a speck of French. What kind of work?”_

_“I need someone with a foot in the Muggle world. Someone who could distribute the products I will be making to non-magical people who have need of them.”_

_“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Mark said agreeably. “All right, we have a deal.” They shook on it._

The memory swirled, particles reassorting and resolving themselves into a new scene, a new memory.

_Severus was seated behind a comfortable-looking desk. The window behind his head looked out onto a bustling Parisian street. A lithe young lady who looked like a darker, less perfect version of Daphne Greengrass was seated on the edge of the desk, her long legs jiggling nervously where they peeked out from a navy pencil skirt._

_“Come in!” the witch called. A slightly older Mark strode in and seated himself in front of Severus’s desk, giving the witch a wink. She giggled sweetly and smoothed her skirt. Severus eyed the pair with growing suspicion._

_“You wanted to see me, Evans?” he said, his voice deceptively mild. Hermione remembered that note of dangerous silk in his tone all too well from her school days._

_Mark nodded, grinning at the witch with the swinging legs, who was now smiling at him reassuringly. “I really appreciate what you’re doing for me,” he began, “but I don’t think I’m cut out for university.”_

_“No? What_ are _you cut out for, then?”_

_Mark flinched, and the witch clucked sympathetically. Severus groaned. “I’m an admirer of what you’ve made of yourself in a new country,” Mark recited blandly. “I think I’d like to turn my hand to entrepreneurship.”_

_“All right, then,” Severus said. “Thank you for your work. I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but that would be a lie. Good luck to you.” With that dismissal, Severus rose. Mark looked taken aback._

_“Look here,” Mark said sharply. “You’re supposed to help me! Your mum said so!”_

_“And I_ have _helped you. I’m afraid my help is at an end. I don’t help those who refuse an education when it is offered to them.”_

_“I s’pose I’ll have to tell the French ministry about who’s been benefiting from your business, then,” Mark shot back._

_“You wouldn’t dare.” Severus whipped out his wand, presumably to Obliviate his would-be blackmailer, but a feminine squeak of “No!” stayed his action._

_“Please,” the witch pleaded, looking at Severus with large, liquid dark eyes. “He can’t defend himself.” Severus stared at her. His eyes were hard, but his wand clattered to the desk._

_“One thousand pounds in cash is all you’ll get,” Severus finally said. “And you’ll keep working for me if you want any more ‘help.’”_

_“Two thousand,” Mark countered, his eyes flinty. The witch gasped. Severus ignored her._

_“Twelve hundred, and not a pound more,” he returned. “Oh, and a tongue-tying spell to keep the authorities away, I think.”_

_“But—” the young witch started. Mark interjected, “That sounds fine.” He extended a hand for his benefactor to shake, but Severus pointedly turned away in disgust._

_“Now get back to work and out of my sight.”_

_Mark positively skipped out of the office, leaving Severus and the unknown witch to their own devices. As soon as the door closed behind him, Severus whirled towards the young witch._

_“You put him up to this, Astoria,” he growled._

_“I didn’t think he’d ask for more money!”_

_“Oh, I can certainly see that you. Didn’t. Think!”_

_“He isn’t so bad, really,” she whispered. Hermione couldn’t help but feel sorry for this whippet-thin statue of a woman, who was picking at the ends of her shiny black hair anxiously. Severus softened perceptibly in the face of Astoria’s distress._

_“Pay him no more mind,” Severus said briskly. “We have more important things to direct our attention towards.”_

_The witch took a minute to regain control over her emotions. “Can we work on the anti-dementia potion? There seems to be an epidemic of Alzheimer’s at the assisted-living facility in Nice.”_

_“A fine idea. But how shall we get the potion to the intended recipients?”_

_The lovely witch pondered the question. “Suppose we make a topical ointment and donate it to the establishment as a sunblock for the residents’ beach outings. That would also ensure repeated administrations of the potion. I believe they go to the beach every Saturday.”_

_“An ingenious plan,” Severus nodded, and Hermione felt a sharp pang of jealousy in her gut. There was a knock at the door. “Enter!”_

_Draco ambled into the room. “Uncle, Astoria. Hello.”_

_Astoria looked suddenly bashful. Severus shook his head and cocked an eyebrow at his godson. “Well, Draco?”_

_“The cauldrons have arrived at the Bulgarian ministry,” Draco drawled as he eyed Astoria with undisguised interest. “The confirmation of receipt was accompanied by a sizeable check from the Bulgarian Minister of Magic himself.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Yes, he—and his wife—are very grateful for the fertility potions that you hid inside of the cauldrons. They have been trying to conceive since the England-Bulgaria World Cup. With your help, they are now expecting twins.”_

_“How wonderful,” Astoria sighed. Draco smiled involuntarily at the witch’s wistfulness._

_“Foolish sentimentality will be the end of you, Astoria,” Severus warned, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in spite of itself._ As Astoria rushed to hug him, Hermione found herself being lifted out of the memory.

“Well?” Dumbledore, Minerva, Dilys, and even Phineas Nigellus looked at her expectantly.

“I—” Hermione was speechless. “He’s all smoke and mirrors, isn’t he? Always trying to hide how good he actually is.”

The gang of portraits chuckled. “That’s what we’ve been trying to say all along,” Dumbledore said gently.

“I don’t know what else he could possibly want to show me,” Hermione said, turning over the last vial with a speculative look. She traded in the second memory for the third and promptly lost herself in the Pensieve’s rolling mist.

_“She’s lost to us, Severus,” Edward Greengrass was saying in agitation, pacing back and forth in front of a cozy Parisian hearth. “We should never have let her take on that Mark Evans’s role.”_

_“What are you talking about?” Draco said sharply. He turned from the window out of which he had been staring. “Where is Astoria?”_

_“Daphne had a letter from Evans this morning, asking for ten thousand pounds in exchange for the knowledge of Astoria’s whereabouts. It seems that Astoria has run away with him.”_

_“She wouldn’t,” Draco said flatly. “She would never!”_

_“He’s handsome enough for a Muggle,” Edward said wearily. “And she was always a bit of a rebel. That would be the Prince blood making itself known.”_

_“I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my mother out of this,” Severus said. “If I’m not mistaken, it takes two to tango. You certainly had no issues with the ‘Prince blood’ when you had an affair with Mum. Now, if you value my little sister’s life, you’ll tell me what you know.”_

_“Astoria’s my sister, too,” said Daphne, emerging from the shadows. “I want to help.”_

_“Certainly, Miss Greengrass,” Severus said courteously. “I’m sure Astoria will open up to you more easily than she will to us once she’s been found.”_

_The memory morphed, moving the principal characters of the prior scene into a seedy Muggle hotel room in … Brighton?_

_“Unhand her, Evans,” Severus roared, pointing his wand directly between Mark’s eyes. “How dare you?”_

_“Sev-Severus,” babbled Astoria from behind Mark. “Oh, thank Merlin, you’re here.”_

_Draco, also pointing his wand at Mark, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the witch. She was clad in a Muggle bikini and could have been mistaken for just another tourist if it weren’t for the dark circles and tear tracks under her eyes. Mark, noticing where the young Malfoy’s gaze was directed, barked out a laugh._

_“I’m feeling generous now that I’m about to become ten thousand pounds richer,” Mark said. “So you can have Stori, Malfoy. Ain’t she a sight for sore eyes?”_

_Draco’s jaw worked furiously, but no words came out. Astoria watched him with large, fearful eyes. “Draco,” she said weakly._

_“I’ll kill you,” Draco said conversationally to Mark. “Enjoy those ten thousand pounds for the minute that you have them.”_

_“Draco, no!” Astoria shrieked._

_“This pathetic excuse for a man kidnapped and forced himself on you,” Severus said. “Why shouldn’t Draco kill him?”_

_Mark laughed mirthlessly. “There was no forcing involved. Astoria agreed to everything that happened. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”_

_“Is this true, Astoria?” Draco whispered._

_“Y-yes. But n-no, not—not exactly.” Astoria faltered at the look on Draco’s face. He turned around to leave. “Draco! Where are you going?”_

_“I’ve seen and heard enough,” he replied, kicking a chair. “Damn it, Astoria. Damn you!”_

_“Don’t—don’t leave! Draco! Please! I love you!”_

_“Stupefy,” Severus said wearily, and Mark slumped to the floor before him. Astoria rushed past his fallen body, but Draco had already Apparated away._

_The memory shifted again, the colors becoming muted. Astoria, now covered neck to toes in fine purple robes, was kneeling on the ground in Severus’s office._

_“I won’t terminate the pregnancy,” she whispered. “All those fertility potions we brewed for all those desperate women, brother … I’ll give the baby up for adoption, but I won’t terminate.”_

_“I have no heir besides you, Astoria,” Severus said softly. “Your child shall inherit all that I have. I’ll have none of this adoption nonsense.”_

_“This is a scandal in the making,” Leila seethed. “When I raised you as my own, Astoria, I did not expect that you would repeat your birth mother’s mistakes. We must ensure that this child’s origins are not made known to the general public, just as yours have been hidden.”_

_“What do you suggest, Maman?” Astoria asked tragically. “I’m not married and can’t pretend the child is my husband’s; my best chance of such a solution will no longer associate with me.”_

_“I have an idea,” Leila replied, and Hermione got a bad feeling about this idea from the conniving look that Mrs. Greengrass couldn’t suppress. “Daphne can marry Severus, and we can pass the child off as theirs.”_

_“Maman!” Daphne rose from an armchair. “Why must I pay for Astoria’s mistake?”_

_“I hardly see this as a viable solution,” Severus murmured, but his gaze was fixed on his half-sister’s bowed head.”_

_“It’s brilliant,” Edward said._

_Severus scoffed. “This doesn’t strike you as incestuous at all?”_

_“Nonsense! You’re completely unrelated to Daphne. Obviously, you can’t marry Astoria, or that really would have been the best solution.”_

_“You’ve all gone mad,” Daphne announced. “Why can’t we just pretend that Severus has adopted a random child to be his heir? Why must I be involved at all?”_

_“It will look awfully suspicious when the child resembles a Greengrass,” Leila snapped. “The genes are terribly dominant. Just look at you and Astoria. You could be twins, apart from the differences in coloring.”_

_Daphne looked defeated. “But I don’t love him.”_

_“You love your sister, though,” Edward reminded her._

The memory ended, Hermione looking at Severus’s torn expression and feeling such confusion and sorrow that she could not articulate it, even to herself. The portraits, sensing her state of mind, were silent for once.

“Bloody hell,” she said at last.


	12. Keeping Up With the Weasleys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we catch up on side plots.

Hermione wasn’t sure she’d ever fully process the frank disclosures that Severus had entrusted into her care. She was equally uncertain as to how to return the memories without interacting with the man himself. It seemed too foolhardy to risk owling them to him and too awkward to hand them back in person. So there she was, cooped up in her office library, mulling over what to do with the vials of silvery memories that she now carried with her everywhere.

To Hermione’s practiced eye, the memories were real, the truth they contained undeniable. Severus Snape was a master of obfuscation, but he never outright lied. Narcissa must have had some inscrutable reason of her own for her departure from Andromeda’s life. Worse, Mark was a scoundrel of the highest order.

Astoria, Hermione thought, was rather a romantic figure. To be not only the object of aloof Draco Malfoy’s affection but also the cherished half-sister of forbidding Professor Snape was quite an accomplishment for such a young woman. Darkly pretty, Astoria was versed in some of the most intricate brewing imaginable and possessed a compassionate heart on top of it all. No wonder Narcissa had spoken of her with such awe. Hermione, always rather at a loss for company that was both passionate and intellectual, felt that she would like to know such a witch. Alas, her opportunity to form a bond with Astoria had probably died a premature death on the night that she so willfully rejected the witch’s half-brother.  

And what of Severus himself? He was no nicer in the memories than he had been in his dealings with Hermione. All the same, he had shown himself to be self-aware, discerning, and scrupulously just. He clearly had his loved ones’ interests at heart. He was _good_ , Hermione thought with dismay. How she had maligned him, willfully misinterpreted him! How she had mistaken a difficult disposition for evil, and been ready to equate Mark’s pleasant demeanor with good! _I used to be better than this,_ she thought despairingly.    

Much as she struggled to ascribe Mark’s behavior to an understandable motive, all she could conclude was that Mark was immature, manipulative, and greedy. It was a lucky chance that she had not pursued anything further with him. _Did he know about Astoria’s pregnancy?_ Hermione wondered. It wasn’t her place to inform him, but as the supposed father of the child, she felt he had something of a right to know. _I won’t be the one to tell him,_ she decided. She’d made enough of a mess of things. _How could I have been so eager to believe Mark’s story?_ she thought. Luna and Dumbledore’s portrait had been right; she had not given Severus the chance he deserved, instead placing her faith in the man whose looks were more angelic.

 

It was no easy task for a witch with such an elevated view of her own abilities and mind to accept the proof of her own fallibility. But what Severus had referred to as her bleeding heart—her conscience and innate kindness—hurt her the most. She had been prejudiced, stubborn, stupid—and it had led her to mistreat Severus terribly. Her nightmares of the Shrieking Shack transmuted. The snake attacked Severus—and Severus would turn to her with the same pained, haunted eyes that he’d bestowed upon her in the Scamanders’ garden.

Yes, the wizard hadn’t held back on his aspersions on herself, but she had a feeling that his complaints mattered very little at the end of the day. She was more than her clothes and her friendships; he’d known this in his core, and he’d loved her in spite of these minor details. And she knew very well that her management skills needed work. This was an area in which Severus’s skills could have assisted her. He would have helped her; he thought she had promise. But she’d pushed him away.

~~

 

“Aunty Herminny!” shouted a boisterous, childish voice as Hermione edged her way into the foyer of 12 Grimmauld Place, her arms sagging with the weight of carry-out curry. “You’re back from New York!”

“I’ve been trying to teach Teddy how to say your name properly,” Andromeda said as she greeted the newcomer with a hug. “You’re looking quite svelte. The States must have agreed with you.”

“I had a wonderful time, except for the part when Professor Snape proposed to me,” Hermione smiled tremulously, patting Teddy’s untidy mop, which looked so like his uncle Harry’s today.

“What?! Merlin, Hermione, please warn me before you make an announcement like that again,” Harry said, dramatically clutching his chest as he walked into the foyer to assist her with her bags. “You didn’t tell me when we had lunch earlier this week!”

“Yes, well, I rather thought I’d imagined the whole thing,” she said quietly. “But it was real, and I’m ready to talk about it.”

~~

 

Harry and Andromeda were silent at the end of Hermione’s narration. She’d left nothing out, except for the parts pertaining to Andromeda and Narcissa. She thought it would be too cruel to remind Andromeda of Narcissa’s flippant treatment.

“Well?” Hermione asked impatiently. “What do you think?”

“I don’t really know what to think,” Harry said. “But if Malfoy loved this Astoria girl—Circe’s knickers, no wonder he’s gone round the bend. And I can’t believe that Mark could be capable of doing something like what he did to Astoria. He just looks so … innocent, y’know?” Hermione agreed.

“It sounds as though you regret refusing the professor,” Andromeda put in. Hermione narrowed her eyes at her, but the older woman continued, “Your reactions, your feelings—these are all out of proportion unless you had strong feelings for him already. My dear, Minerva wasn’t the only person who was watching you and Severus at the Malfoys’ ball.”

“There was nothing going on between us!” Hermione cried.

“I know, but it looked awfully like there could have been,” Andromeda replied. Harry nodded reluctantly.

“Do you want Snape, Hermione?” he asked, looking a little green at the thought. “I won’t judge you if you do. I can’t make any promises for Ron, though.”

“No, of course not,” Hermione said after a moment. Harry and Andromeda exchanged significant looks. “It’s beside the point, anyway. He wouldn’t have me, not after the words we exchanged.”

“Ah, but you also exchanged saliva,” Harry said with an air of great wisdom, “which trumps words, in my experience.”

“Uncle Hawwy, what’s saliva? Can I have some?” Teddy asked, deeply interested.

“We all have saliva, Teddy bear,” Harry replied solemnly. “But you must keep it to yourself until you’re old enough to know what to do with it.”

~~

 

“Long time no see, Gin. Where have you been lately?” Neville asked his old chum, who had attended the Yule Ball with him so many years before.

“I made some new friends. I’ve been spending most of my free time with them,” Ginny said with a shrug, swigging a mug full of a frothy amber liquid. Her bloodshot eyes were the only sign that anything was amiss with the fiery witch.

Neville stared at her in concern. “Speaking as one of your best friends,” he said cautiously, “I miss you and would like to see you more regularly. Maybe at the Three Broomsticks on Saturday night?”

“Let me guess, Neville Longbottom,” she hissed. “You, my dear brother Ronald, and a certain scar-faced lover boy are planning some kind of intervention for me. Well, I am a grown witch. I will do whatever I like, with whomever I like!”

“Harry won’t be there,” Neville wheedled. “And it isn’t an intervention. We just miss you, that’s all.”

“Oh, please, Nev,” she said. “Enough with the false platitudes. I’m actually waiting here for one of my friends, so please excuse me. Have a good day.” She swayed over to a corner of the pub. Neville watched her with increasing alarm. He stayed put, unwilling to relinquish the inebriated Ginny so easily.

“It’s so good to see you!” Ginny exclaimed after a few minutes, throwing her arms around someone Neville had never seen before. He gaped at the chatty pair so openly that the bartender tapped him on the shoulder, coughing, “You’re being a bit creepy, mate.” Neville rounded on the person behind the bar, only to find himself tongue-tied.

“You’re looking well,” smiled the chubby, rosy bartender. “Good to see you again after all these years, Neville Longbottom.” She curtsied cheekily, drawing attention to her colorful smock. 

“Where’s Tom?” Neville managed, feeling like an ickle firstie again instead of the confident, strong wizard that he'd grown into.

“He’s retiring this summer. Being his niece, I’ll be taking over the Leaky for him, don’t cha know?”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Neville said distractedly. He knew he was being an idiot, but he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by this sudden ray of sunshine in the otherwise gloomy midwinter. He’d noticed her in his final year at Hogwarts, trapped in the Room of Requirement with her and all of the other members of Dumbledore’s Army. He might have stepped in for Harry as their surrogate leader then, but around her he had been as docile as a puppy, eager for any scraps of attention and affection that she might be willing to bestow. She was as soncy and luminous now as she’d been in those dark days. 

“In the interest of building up my own clientele,” she said, leaning forward confidentially and causing Neville to gulp, “how about you and the boys grab your Saturday pints here instead of in Hogsmeade? Drinks’ll be on the house.”

“That sounds fine,” he eked out. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I hope to see more of you. And the boys, too, of course.” She hesitated, then plunged on. “Mostly you, though, Neville. I’ve missed you.”

He looked up, meeting her gaze for the first time. “I’d like that, Hannah.” She blushed and winked.

~~

 

Ron spat his mouthful of half-chewed steak and potatoes onto the table in front of Hermione. She gagged in disgust.

“ _Honestly_ , Ron!”  

In response, the redhead thrust the _Daily Prophet_ under her nose. “Pureblood Matriarch Joins Dawlish’s Ticket,” read the headline. A photograph of the dimpled Mrs. Weasley filled the rest of the front page.

“Did you know that your mother had political aspirations?” Hermione asked, trying very hard not to laugh. She had only been on speaking terms with Ron for two days, as they were trying to be civil for the depressed Harry’s sake. She didn’t want to ruin their unspoken truce by saying—or doing—the wrong thing.

“Of course not,” Ron snapped. “This is Percy’s kind of thing.”

“I s’pose Percy had to inherit his ambition from someone,” Harry said with a rare grin.

“I think your mum would be a brilliant second in command, actually,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “She is excellent at planning and delegating, and no one knows the ins and outs of wizarding society better. And she would be a great ally for the cause of wizarding equality.”

“I can’t see Dad being pleased about this,” Ron grumbled.

“I think you underestimate your father,” Hermione said. “Anyway, it’s Molly’s right to pursue a new career if she likes. She’s been complaining about being bored now that everyone has left home.”

“I don’t like it,” Ron persisted. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Shut up, Ron,” Harry said tiredly. “You’re just annoyed because this might be the end of Sunday supper.”

“Have you thought about what to do about Mark, Harry?” Hermione asked, changing the subject.

“You mean, whether I should tell him about the baby?”

“Yes, and whether we should warn Severus of Mark’s whereabouts.”

“Severus, eh?” interjected Ron, frowning at his old girlfriend.

“Ron,” Harry cautioned. Ron subsided but looked disapproving. Hermione ignored him. “I reckon you had the right idea, Hermione. We should just keep out of it. It’s really none of our business.”

“Yes, although doing nothing is so unsatisfying,” Hermione lamented.

“Would anyone mind explaining what the bloody hell is going on?” Ron begged.  

~~

 

Harry _was_ depressed, even if he had yet to admit it to his two best friends. While he and Ginny had been publicly casual about their relationship, inwardly he was as possessive and enamored as Snape had been of Harry’s mother. Ginny _knew_ Harry. She hadn’t seemed to think he needed much fixing, unlike Molly and Hermione, whose maternal fussing was occasionally claustrophobia-inducing. Being with Ginny was magical; no wands or words were necessary. His was a love beyond love; it encompassed admiration, respect, desire. He saw everything in her, everything he could possibly want.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He had been so focused on his own needs, his own perspective, that he hadn’t paid much attention to Ginny’s. She’d been so good at making their relationship seem effortless. Too late, he was realizing that it had taken work, work that Ginny hadn’t asked him to do. Work that he hadn’t offered to do. And he had no idea how to win her back.

“What do you think of this business between Harry and Ginny, Hermione?” Molly asked anxiously at the next Sunday supper, her eyes flitting between the morose Harry, who was absently stabbing the roast with a fork, and Ginny, who had acquired a Muggle “celly phone,” as Arthur excitedly called it, and was chatting away with one of her new friends on it.

“I didn’t realize their relationship was so serious,” Hermione said in a whisper. “They were so blasé about everything. But it must have been more than Quidditch and takeaway, or else Harry wouldn’t be taking things so badly.”   

“How could you think it wasn’t serious?” Molly asked, surprised. “Ginny’s been in love with Harry since she was ten years old, the poor thing.”

“I don’t know; I guess Harry was so relaxed about it, and Ginny always matched his energy,” Hermione replied with a frown. “Plus, Ginny has such an independent spirit.”

“I can hear everything you’re gossiping about, Mum,” Ginny said tartly, pulling her head away from her phone. “And you can stop talking about me, thank you very much.”

Harry looked at her with both longing and concern shining in his weary face. “Ginny …”

“Yes, yes, I can do that,” Ginny said into her phone, turning away from her ex-boyfriend. A look of such pain touched Harry’s eyes that Hermione felt a sudden lump in her throat. She turned her glance to Molly, who had noticed Harry as well. The two women’s faces mirrored Harry’s despair.

~~

 

“Do you know anything about Ginny’s new friends?” Hermione asked Molly and Arthur after dinner, when the family party had adjourned to the comfortable living room for chocolate trifle and relaxation.

“I’ve only gotten vague answers or a brushoff whenever I’ve asked,” Arthur said. He sadly eyed his only daughter, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a sleepy Teddy in her lap and suddenly looking very young. “She’s of age; she can do whatever she likes, fortunately or unfortunately.”

“At least she’s keeping out of the public eye for the most part, and her drinking is already improving,” Molly murmured. “I think these friends might actually be good for her.”

Hermione looked askance at the Weasley matriarch. “But don’t you think it’s odd that Ginny won’t introduce her friends to any of us? Aren’t you at least a little concerned?”

“It’s only been a couple of weeks since she’s met these folks,” Arthur replied for his wife. “I daresay we’ll meet them in due course.”

“I think it’s time we all put a little trust in Ginny,” Molly added. “I’ve mollycoddled her long enough, and I’ve got enough stress as it is, what with the campaign and Bill’s newest little one arriving any day now. Let’s give Ginny some time and privacy, Hermione.”

Arthur reached over to pat Hermione’s shoulder. “My dear, your concern is much appreciated, but don’t fret. We all will be here to support Ginny whenever she decides to open up. Now, tell me, how are things going at the Ministry for you? We heard about Severus’s resignation.”

“They’re fine. We’re adjusting,” the young witch said shortly. Then, “Molly, would you by any chance know how to apply for external or internal funding? I’d like to look into extra funds for the department, just in case.” _Just in case Rolf gets his hands on his grandfather’s money._


	13. Misses Granger and Greengrass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine screws her courage to the sticking place.

Harry and Hermione made an unspoken pact to avoid the curry joint that employed Mark, but their best efforts at disappearing from his life were foiled before long. They were enjoying a decent fish fry for February at the pub across from the Ministry when they heard a long, low whistle.

“Well, if it isn’t the famous Harry Potter and Hermione Granger,” came a most unwelcome voice. Harry and Hermione both stiffened. Mark ambled towards the bar where they were sitting, his eyes narrowed. “Haven’t seen you lot in two winks.”

“Mark,” Hermione said, recovering first and kneeing Harry under the bar. “Sorry, we’ve been caught up at work. How are you?”

“Passable. Got meself a new job, y’know.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, not much room for moving up the ladder at the curry house, so I’m serving at Harrod’s. Gotta love the foreigners with the big tips.”

“Indeed,” said Hermione, sounding so much like Snape that Harry choked on his pint. Mark looked suspiciously at her. “And you? How’s work? Old Snapey treating you all right?” he asked.

“ _Severus_ is sorting out some Hogwarts business, so he hasn’t been around in a while. We had a very nice time on our business trip to the States, though.”

Mark looked taken aback. “You went on a trip with Snape? No wonder I haven’t seen you much. I’m sorry you had to deal with the greasy git during a holiday.”

“We had fun,” Hermione said mildly. “Severus was quite nice to me.”

Surprised, Mark tried to backtrack. “Well, that doesn’t sound much like the Snape I knew. You couldn’t get the old Snape to say a kind word to a baby.”

Harry snorted in amusement. Hermione shot him a warning glance. “It turns out that Severus improves on acquaintance. And he is less … uptight … when he’s abroad. Wouldn’t you agree, Mark?”

“Interesting,” Mark said, almost as an afterthought, before recovering. “I reckon you’re right. He was a sight happier in France, I’d wager. So you saw him every day?”

“We spent almost all of our time together,” Hermione said sweetly. She could almost see the wheels turning in Mark’s mind.

“And how would you say he’s improved?” Mark wanted to know. “Is he more polite? Or has he suddenly become a better person?”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said. “I’d say he’s essentially the same as he ever was.” There was a pause, during which Mark appeared increasingly sweaty and anxious. Harry watched him with a cool eye, nudging Hermione’s foot with his own. “You know,” she continued at length, “he was as abrupt and seemingly detached as usual. But it seemed to me that as I’ve gotten to know him better, I have a better understanding of why he is the way he is.”

“I see,” Mark said quickly. “Well, he was a spy, so I suppose he’s done a good job of presenting himself as an upstanding sort of chap.”

Hermione tilted her head in recognition of his words but didn’t pursue the topic, turning back to her fish without an invitation for Mark to join her and Harry. Harry mumbled something about how Snape was all too good at presenting himself as the opposite of upstanding, which made her snicker; Mark flushed, recognizing a losing battle. As Mark strolled away, Hermione hoped that marked the end of the Mark chapter in her life.

~~

“Molly Weasley informed me that you’re interested in seeking new sources of revenue for your department, Miss Granger.” Minister Dawlish paced between the bookcases flanking his desk on the fourth floor of the Ministry. “A most unusual request. Are your current funds insufficient to meet your needs?”

“It isn’t that, Minister.” Hermione blushed. “I had the opportunity to meet with my current benefactors, and while I greatly appreciate their assistance, I would like to find a way to make the department self-sufficient. If one of our projects could generate its own revenue, we wouldn’t have to rely on the money of the Ministry—or on the money of private citizens.”

“That would indeed be ideal,” the minister said, perking up at the thought of not having to dedicate Ministry resources to a currently insolvent office. “Do you have a project in mind?”

“We have several innovative potions in the pipeline, so to speak,” she replied, “but since we’ve lost Professor Snape, I’ll need a new collaborator to see these projects through from conception to market.”

“Very well,” Dawlish said briskly. “I have been notified that there is a new Potions mistress who has recently moved to this country. She might be just the ticket, Miss Granger. Here’s her address,” he levitated a piece of parchment towards her, “and I’ll clear you for a week’s holiday with pay to ‘woo’ her, as it were, to your department. She lives in a beautiful part of the country, so make sure you make the most of it.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Hermione jumped to her feet and shook Dawlish’s hand exuberantly. She dashed out of the office, holding the parchment close to her chest with a manic expression on her face. Dawlish looked a little dizzy as he sank into his armchair.

“Merlin save us from Hermione Granger on a mission,” he said aloud.

 

~~ 

Once ensconced in her own office, Hermione finally allowed herself to let out a sigh of relief and to unfold the gift that Dawlish had proffered. But when she saw the name and address written on the slip of parchment, her heart sank.

_Mistress Astoria Greengrass. Pemberley Estate, Derbyshire, England._

~~ 

“Won’t you go with me, Mum?” Hermione whined, swiveling in a dentist’s chair at her parents’ practice. The Drs. Granger smiled indulgently at their only daughter as they sterilized some rather dastardly looking dental implements.

“This is a business trip, isn’t it, dear?” one of the dentists asked. “Shouldn’t you take one of your colleagues? Say, that funny professor of yours? Snape, wasn’t it?”

“Professor Snape no longer works for me. And Neville is still ironing out the details of his Hogwarts contract, so he can’t come.”

“That’s a shame about the professor. I liked him,” the other dentist said.

Hermione groaned. “That’s another thing; this Astoria is Severus’s half-sister and lives in one of his properties. So I’m supposed to intrude on his turf.”

“If she’s anywhere near as amusing as he is, then it should be all right,” soothed the male Granger. “Hermione, why are you hyperventilating?”  

She was indeed hyperventilating. “I really, really don’t want to run into Professor Snape. We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“I might have an EpiPen in one of those drawers,” the female Dr. Granger muttered to her husband as she observed her daughter working herself into anaphylactic shock. To Hermione, she said, “If you’re that concerned, dear, of course we’ll go with you. I’ll tell my secretary to cancel next week’s appointments.”

“Oh, thank you, Mum!” Hermione threw her arms around her parents. The Drs. Granger exchanged exasperated but loving looks above their daughter’s head.

~~

“I grew up in these parts, you know,” the female Dr. Granger said dreamily as the three Grangers trundled down the main road in Lambton, Derbyshire’s central village, in the turquoise-colored car that Ron had rescued from the Forbidden Forest and fixed up for his father. “It shall be lovely to take in the sights again.”

“I didn’t know that,” Hermione said, startled.

“Oh, yes, your grandfather—my father—worked for the post office in town. I used to ride with him along his route when I was young. There was a very nice lady up at the great house who used to give me the most marvelous biscuits when we stopped there to drop off parcels. They were ginger biscuits in the shape of lizards.”

“Ginger newts?” Hermione asked, thinking of Professor McGonagall’s favored sweets.

“Yes, that’s what she called them,” Dr. Granger said cheerfully. “She was so kind and so lonely! She told me she’d always wanted a little girl.”

“Was this great house called Pemberley, by any chance?”

“Yes” came the prompt reply. Before Hermione could articulate her theory on the identity of the giver of ginger newts, Dr. Granger squealed, “And there it is!”

The trio had reached the summit of a grassy hilltop, and below, perhaps a mile or so ahead of them, lay a vast Tudor mansion, surrounded by yards of well-kept gardens and even a glossy blue pond. Hermione noticed what her parents could not: a lustrous multicolored web of magical wards, crisscrossing in fantastic patterns above the great house. She’d thought she knew what a spectacular wizarding home was; she’d been to Malfoy Manor and the Bagshot estate, after all. But this was beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Dr. Granger said happily. “Shall we take a tour of the house and grounds?”

“What?!”

“A wing of the home is usually open to tourists during business hours. I’d love to see how the old place has changed since I was a wee girl.”

“Must we?”

“We must,” Dr. Granger said firmly, a precursor of Hermione’s iron will apparent in her manner, and that was that. Hermione crossed her fingers inside her mittens and prayed that Severus would be so tied up with Hogwarts business in London that he would not run into the Grangers during their visit to Pemberley.

~~ 

As they neared the stately ancient seat of the McGonagalls, Hermione’s stomach started tying and untying in elaborate knots, rendering her speechless in psychogenic agony. She clutched her abdomen, peeking at her parents out of the corner of her eye. They ignored her resolutely. There were times when Hermione took her only child status a bit too far, and the Drs. Granger were not natural-born coddlers.

“For heavens’ sake, Minnie, you’ve been through much worse than this, unless whatever you’ve told us about Lord Voldybags was a heap of codswallop,” her father called impatiently. The elder Grangers had disembarked from their car and were waiting, antsy, for their daughter to join them at the front gate of the great house.

“Promise me that we will turn around and head straight for the hotel if we find out that Professor Snape is home,” she replied, refusing to stick her head out of her backseat window.

“Fine,” snapped her mother. “Now get over here, missy.”

“Fine!” Hermione struggled out of the car, smoothing the skirt of her woolen sweater dress nervously and pulling her fuzzy purple scarf more warmly around her neck. As the family walked with purpose—Grangers didn’t amble—up to the grand double doors, the stone wolves flanking the entryway suddenly leaped onto their haunches and howled at the sky. A flurry of activity was set off within the house. Hermione quickly stepped behind her father, who groaned. The doors creaked open ostentatiously.

“Good afternoon,” said a well-groomed, high-pitched voice, the words echoing in the chamber behind. The owner of the voice proved, once the Grangers lowered the gaze toward the ground, to belong to a tanned, aged house elf that was smartly attired in a butler’s kit. “Welcome to Pemberley. My name is Rico. And you are?”

“Grangers,” Hermione’s father said simply. His jaw was slack in awe of the enormous tapestry that could be seen behind Rico. To Muggle eyes, it seemed to depict a gruesome rendering of the demises of each of Henry VIII’s wives. Hermione, however, saw a rather graphic tribute to Godric Gryffindor’s seven mistresses. She wrinkled her nose.

“Enter, please,” squeaked Rico. He ushered the Grangers inside, baring a wide-mouthed, shining grin. Hermione suspected that Rico had benefited from human-sized dentures. Rico’s cultured speech and appearance made it seem like he could pass off as a human with achondroplasia, which must have made it easier for the McGonagalls to allow Muggle visitors, Hermione mused. “You must be here to tour the house and gardens, no?” Rico said. 

“Yes, we would love to,” Hermione’s mother enthused. “I used to visit the mistress of the house many years ago.”

“Oh, Miss Minnie was the best mistress,” Rico said happily. “But Rico likes new master very much, too.”

“Do you?” Hermione interjected, stepping out from behind her father.

“Oh, yes,” Rico replied, bouncing on his toes. “New master makes lovely potions for Rico. Look how shiny Rico’s teeth are! Look at how Rico can jump without hurting his knee anymore!” Rico obligingly jumped up and down for the Grangers. “New master has helped Rico get his groove back!”

“How fabulous!” the Drs. Granger exclaimed. Hermione struggled to hold back her giggles.

“And new master has a pretty bird and said that Rico can share the bird as his pet,” Rico continued as he walked them through splendid hallway after hallway. His eyes were wide at the thought of his master’s beneficence. “And new master brought a sister for Rico to take care of. And master’s sister is going to have a baby any day now, and master has asked Rico to help care for master’s sister’s baby!”

“Won’t that be a lot of work, Rico?” one of the Drs. Granger asked, looking worried for the overjoyed house elf.

“Oh, no, madam,” Rico said earnestly. “Rico loves master and master’s sister and will love master’s sister’s baby.”

Hermione, who was trailing slightly behind her parents and growing ever more astonished that such a magical house might have been hers for the sharing, asked, “Is your master home, Rico?”

“No,” said Rico sadly. “Master has to finish some work for the school that mistress Minnie headed. Master will return to Pemberley tomorrow to see master’s sister.”

Hermione’s relief was almost palpable. By the skin of her teeth, she had evaded Severus and might even be able to seek a private audience with Astoria. She resolved to come to some kind of arrangement with the younger Miss Greengrass that very day so that Astoria wouldn’t be unduly influenced by her brother.  

“If it’s all right with your master’s sister, I’d love to seek an audience with her,” Hermione said cautiously. “You see, I … I know her brother.”

“You know Master Severus?” Rico cried, looking most impressed. “But of course you must meet Mistress Tori. She is so lonely at home when master is away.”

Hermione reflected that perhaps her business at Pemberley would be easier to accomplish than predicted. With as helpful an ally as Rico, half her job was done for her.

“Mistress Tori is almost as pretty as master’s bird,” Rico was saying as he led them up an ebony spiral staircase. “But master is the prettiest, Rico thinks. Don’t you think so, master’s friend?”

Hermione nearly slipped on the next stair. “Prettiest?” she echoed. The Drs. Granger chuckled. She mumbled, blushing, “I’m sure I couldn’t say. I haven’t met Mistress Tori, so I can’t compare.”

“Mistress Tori and Rico keep telling master that he is very handsome and that he should marry and have babies like mistress Minnie asked him to do,” Rico said, nodding his head vigorously. “But sometimes master likes to be difficult.”

“I would wonder if the good professor is paying Rico to be so complimentary towards himself, except for the fact that poor Rico obviously doesn’t have a dissembling bone in his body,” Hermione’s mother murmured into her daughter’s ear. “I must say that Rico’s version of Professor Snape is very different from yours.” Hermione made a noise of mingled doubt and confusion. She could scarcely believe Rico’s story, but the house elf didn’t seem to be under the hold of an Imperius or any sort of compulsion curse.

“Mistress Tori lives in this suite,” Rico said at last, coming to a stop in front of a nondescript white door. The group could hear the faint strains of Chopin emanating through the walls. He rapped on the door, which opened quickly and smoothly, as though a summer breeze had pushed it to the side.

“Rico, is that you?”

The Grangers tiptoed into a sunny room filled with instruments and bookshelves of sheet music. A telly showing some kind of period drama was on in one corner of the well-appointed room. A tall, sad-eyed woman was seated at an upright piano in another corner. The keyboard obscured her nine-months-pregnant belly. The woman stood at the sight of the newcomers.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Visitors!” She rushed towards the Grangers and shook their hands. “ _Quelle merveille!_ ”

“Hello, Miss Greengress,” Hermione said shyly to this blossoming creature. “I’m Hermione Granger, and these are my parents, Dr. and Dr. Granger.”

“Hermione Granger?” Astoria said, a knowing look dawning on her sweet face. “It’s an honor to meet you and your parents. My brother has told me a great deal about you. Please call me Tori.”

“Then you must call me Hermione.”

“Or Minnie,” Hermione’s father said, smiling at Tori.

“Like mistress Minnie,” Rico said, looking favorably at Hermione.   

“ _Exactly_ like mistress Minnie,” Tori said meaningfully. Hermione flushed a deep red. The two elder Grangers looked utterly bewildered.

 

~~

“My brother didn’t mention that you’d be visiting Pemberley. He doesn’t return until tomorrow; you must stay and meet him.”

“He doesn’t know that we’re here,” Hermione said, accepting a teacup from Rico. Her parents were sipping their tea and perusing Tori’s library. “I’m actually here to see you.”

“Oh?”

“You probably know that I run a small research office at the Ministry of Magic in London. I am in need of a new co-researcher, preferably one with a strong potions background.” Hermione leaned forward and took Tori’s hand. “I know that this might not be the best timing for you, given your condition, but I want you to know that there is an excellent position in my department waiting for you, whenever you feel ready to take on some brewing and creative potions work.”

Tori squeezed Hermione’s hand. “I’d like that very much. I actually already work at the ministry, but in a part-time capacity due to my pregnancy. It would be a blessing to take on something more challenging. And I have to admit that it would be wonderful to work with my brother again.”

“But—your brother didn’t tell you? He no longer works for me.”

“I didn’t know that.” Tori frowned, letting go of Hermione’s hand. “He enjoyed his time with you. I’d never seen him so inspired. I’ll have to discuss this with him.” She looked agitated. “Ow! Oh, _mon Dieu_!”

“What is it?” Hermione asked, concerned. To her surprise, the collected Miss Greengrass blushed and turned away.

“I apologize, Hermione, but I think I’ve wet myself,” she whispered. The Drs. Grangers’ heads swiveled from where they had been examining a photograph of Astoria and Severus next to the television.

“Let me look, dear,” Hermione’s mother said, rushing over to Tori and eyeing the rush of fluid that was making its way to the floor.

“Are you having contractions?” Hermione’s father asked gently.

“I’ve been having them off and on for the past day, but I thought they were Braxton Hicks contractions,” Tori said, looking terrified.

“Are they painful? Do they radiate?”

“Yes and yes,” Tori responded from where she was lying atop the chaise longue onto which Hermione’s mother had maneuvered her. “Ow, I can—ah!—feel a contraction now. Oh, it hurts!”

“My dear, you are 6 centimeters dilated and completely effaced,” the female Dr. Granger said softly, her head emerging from a blanket that she had draped over the lower half of Astoria’s body. “Baby’s head is vertex. I don’t have the appropriate equipment to test the fluid, but I would wager that your bag of water just broke. Baby is on his way.”

“How—soon?” Tori asked between deep breaths.

“I can’t say, but any time between now and midnight from now would be a good estimate.”

“It’s so painful,” Tori gasped.

“We must get you to a hospital as soon as possible,” Hermione’s father said. “Neither Hermione’s mother nor I has special training in obstetrics, and we have even less idea of what to do in a magical delivery.”

“Severus,” Tori said. “I need Severus.”

“Let’s ride out this next contraction and then floo to St. Mungo’s,” Hermione said, taking charge. “You can send a Patronus to Severus as soon as we get there. Is that all right, Tori?”

“Yes,” Tori whispered, her large black eyes even more doe-like and forlorn than usual. She clutched Hermione’s arm. “Hermione, you will stay till the end, won’t you?”

“I’m sure you won’t need me there once your brother arrives,” Hermione said consolingly.

“Don’t be so certain. My brother is very kind and good, but he won’t have any idea of what to do in this situation. And you are so very nice.”

“What about your sister, Daphne?”

“Daphne? She’s still in New York with Maman and Papa. Please, Miss Granger. I’d rather have you and your parents than anybody else.”

“Very well.” Hermione grabbed the pot of Floo powder that Rico offered her and tossed the contents into the nearest fireplace, pushing Tori, Rico, and her parents into the green flames ahead of her. Her last thought before the group was transported to the wizarding hospital was that Severus Snape was in for a shock and a half.   


	14. Astoria's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero and heroine witness the miracle of birth.

“I demand to know which room is currently holding hostage one Miss Astoria Greengrass,” a haughty voice proclaimed at the central mediwitch station. “Miss Brown, you used to be more complaisant than this.” 

“I assure you, Professor Snape, that Miss Greengrass is getting the best care we can provide, but I cannot allow you into her room until we have more information as to how you are related to her!” Lavender Brown said insistently. “Her room is already quite full; unless you are the baby’s father, I cannot allow you admittance. Moreover, I must ask that you please refer to me as Healer Brown, not ‘Miss’!” 

Severus Snape sneered down his nose at the diminutive healer. “It boggles the mind that you became a healer after your abysmal potions performance. How you managed to find your way around a cauldron in between your incessant hair flipping and eyelash waving at the Gryffindor males is beyond my comprehension.”

“Leave the Healing to those who can ‘comprehend’ it, sir,” Lavender said sweetly. “Now, the waiting room is down the hallway and to your left.”

“Healer Brown—” Snape began, when he felt a hand on his arm. He instantly felt calmer, although he couldn’t explain why. His eyes followed the hand up to a familiar face. He started, and the face looking up into his blushed prettily. 

“Professor, I thought I heard your voice,” Hermione said softly. “Please follow me. Tori is doing wonderfully well. She’ll be so glad to see you.”

“But Hermione—”

Hermione sighed. “Lavender, take my word for it: Professor Snape has every right to be with Astoria right now. And no, he is not the father of her baby, so don’t let me find a tale purporting as such on the cover of the _Prophet_ tomorrow morning.” 

Lavender huffed. “I would never compromise my patient’s confidentiality in such a tawdry manner!” But Severus, tugged along by Hermione, had disappeared. 

“Miss Granger, may I ask what you’re doing here?” Severus queried, forcing Hermione to stop outside of Astoria’s door. From where they stood, they could hear Astoria’s moans, perfectly in sync with her increasingly closely spaced contractions. 

“My parents and I were visiting your home; my mother is from Derbyshire, you see, and she knew Professor McGonagall when she was little, and she wanted to see the house again, and—” she babbled. Severus stopped her prattle with a long finger placed against her lips. 

“Save your energy for the delivery room, Miss Granger,” he said wearily. “Take me to my sister.”

“Okay,” she managed, and the pair entered a scene of organized chaos. The female Dr. Granger, accompanied by a steely-eyed mediwitch, was coaching Astoria through her pushes. The male Dr. Granger was standing in a corner and looking decidedly queasy. Severus looked like he’d like nothing more than to join Hermione’s father, but the other Dr. Granger spied him and beckoned him forward. 

“A pleasure to see you again, Professor Snape,” she said, smiling tiredly at Severus. She looked pointedly at Hermione’s hand, which was still firmly clutching the professor’s arm. Hermione dropped his hand as though it had burned her. Everyone in the room, including the panting Astoria, raised an eyebrow at this. 

“Likewise. Thank you for your invaluable assistance thus far,” Severus said politely, striding forward to greet his younger sister. “Astoria, you couldn’t have waited one more day?”

“It wasn’t my decision; it was the little one’s, I think,” Astoria replied weakly. “You took ever so long to get here, brother!”

“I was finalizing the headmastership at the school and couldn’t tear myself away from the school governors,” he apologized. “But I’m here now.”

“You are always in the right place in the nick of time,” Astoria said fondly. Watching this sibling interaction, Hermione felt a pang of jealousy. As an only child, she’d grown up with unadulterated love from her parents but as she’d grown older she’d wished she had someone who understood her as instinctively as the Weasley children all seemed to understand each other. Just as abruptly, she felt a rush of fierce joy for Professor Snape. The wizard who’d been alone all his life finally had someone who was clearly rooting for him. 

“I don’t know if I can do this much longer,” Astoria said after a few more minutes of pushing. She was sweating and squirming, unable to bear the pain in her hips and pelvis. “The pain just worsens with each go.” 

“You’re almost there,” Hermione found herself saying encouragingly. The mediwitch nodded at her. “We can see the top of baby’s head. What lovely hair!” 

“Hair? My baby! Severus, look at my baby’s head. What color is the hair?” Astoria asked quaveringly. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have Miss Granger tell you?” asked Severus. He was decidedly uneasy at the prospect at seeing parts of his sister that he’d never intended to see. 

“It has to be you,” she replied, squeezing his fingers hard. He gulped but acquiesced, quickly looking down at the crowning head and averting his gaze back to his sister’s shining face. 

“It’s hard to say at this juncture, since there isn’t a lot of hair,” he said noncommittally. “If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it is blond.”

“What kind of blond?” Astoria asked between a series of pushes. “Sandy?” Push. “Dirty?” Push. “White? Argh!” 

“What does it matter? You’ll see for yourself in no time at all,” Severus said unhelpfully. The women in the room glared at him. 

“If you insist on being deliberately useless, you can wait outside,” Hermione bit out as she held back one of Astoria’s legs. 

“Last time I checked, I was the one that my sister wanted with her,” Severus rejoined. 

“If it weren’t for me, your sister wouldn’t have made it to St. Mungo’s with time to spare!” Hermione snapped back. Severus’s eyes were amused, albeit tinged with worry for Astoria. 

“Almost there, my dear!” trilled Dr. Granger. “You’re doing so well!”

“Get in position, Professor Snape,” said the mediwitch. “You can catch the baby if you so wish.”

“I’d rather not,” he said, looking squeamish. “I might drop it.”

“Severus …” Astoria moaned. “Stay here with me.”

“Why don’t you catch the baby, Miss Granger?” Severus asked suddenly. “I’m sure that would be the next best thing.”

“Why me?” Hermione was astonished. 

“As you said, my sister wouldn’t be safely delivering in the hospital if it weren’t for you,” he said, his eyes oddly warm. “My niece or nephew would be safest landing in your arms.”

“Push, Tori!” Hermione cheered, stroking the knee that she was propping up. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Please, Hermione,” Astoria gasped. “I want you to catch the baby.” The silent mediwitch nodded passively at her. 

“All right,” the young researcher agreed nervously. She stood herself in the perfect spot, holding her hands in position as the mediwitch directed her. Within five minutes, it was all over. 

“8:40 p.m. is the time of birth,” the mediwitch noted as she rubbed the wee babe all over. A Quick-Quotes quill scribbled frantically onto a notepad nearby as the mediwitch spoke. The newborn pinked and wailed lustily. Hastily, the mediwitch drew her wand from its sheath along her forearm and waved it soundlessly. Vital signs appeared, hovering over the baby’s heart. “Congratulations, Miss Greengrass, you have a healthy boy.”

“Let me see him! _Ma petite,”_ she cooed. The mediwitch swaddled and placed the tiny boy on Astoria’s chest. The Grangers and Severus crowded around Astoria to marvel at the miraculous child. 

“We should inform my parents and sister,” Astoria said as she examined all ten little fingers and all ten toes. However, Severus was not paying attention to her. 

“Astoria,” he said, drawing the syllables out slowly. “There is something that you failed to inform me.”

“Is this really the time, brother?” she asked, her gaze transfixed on her infant. 

“There is no better time if you want the right actions to be taken,” he responded gravely. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, my dear, that there was a reason why you wanted to know what color this child’s hair was.”

Astoria reluctantly tore her eyes from her child and looked imploringly at her brother. “Please don’t be angry with me, Severus.”

“We’ll see,” he said. He placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder as though seeking support. “Astoria, please tell me there is a good explanation for why my nephew looks exactly like Draco Malfoy did as an infant.” 

~~

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Severus said formally as the Grangers and he decamped to the waiting room while Astoria learned how to breastfeed. “I think I can speak for Astoria when I say that she and I are most grateful. Your medical assistance was vital.” 

“That’s quite all right,” the Drs. Granger said in unison. The male one added, “I think my wife and I will pop down to the canteen for a cuppa.” The female said mistily, “I can’t wait until my daughter’s the one to give birth.” Hermione shook her head. Severus’s mouth twitched, but he thankfully refrained from commenting. The dentists took their leave and wended their way down the hallway. Severus turned to face Hermione. 

“So.”

“So.”

Severus sighed. “You and my sister seem to get on very well.”

“She’s charming, sir.”

“A bit too free with her charms, it would seem.”

“She can do what she likes,” Hermione said reproachfully. “Don’t you dare shame her. It takes two to tango, as I recall.”

Severus flinched. Too late, Hermione realized she’d used his own words, taken straight from his memories, regarding his mother’s indiscretion with Astoria’s father. 

“I’m so sorry, please ignore me,” she gasped, grabbing his shirtsleeve. “Anyway, don’t be angry at Astoria. Your nephew is so sweet and adorable. Please give her a pass on this one.”

“What kind of man do you think I am?” he said, touching her hand tentatively. “This is a happy occasion. I am thrilled that Draco, not Mark Evans, is the father of my nephew. My worry pertains to what must be done about it.”

“Must something be done?”

“Yes, needs must,” he sighed. “Draco is my godson. He will eventually visit me at Pemberley. I highly doubt that I can hide the existence of his child, nor am I certain that I should.”

“I do think he has the right to know, if Tori wishes it,” Hermione said swiftly. “He did love her at one time, judging by your memories. He might love her still. After seeing him with Teddy, I want to believe that he’d do the right thing by Tori and his son.” 

Severus was quiet for a time. “I will ask Astoria what she thinks. My feeling is that Draco would want to know and support his child, even if he and Astoria never reach an understanding between each other.” 

She nodded in acquiescence. Smiling, she said, “Professor Snape, I do believe that this is the most civil conversation we’ve ever had.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” he murmured with a half-smile of his own. “Hermione—”

“Professor Snape!” Lavender Brown poked her head through the doorway of the cramped waiting room. “An owl has arrived for you.” She looked curiously at them, and certainly they made an interesting tableau: Hermione’s hand still holding fast to Severus’s arm, Severus’s hand rubbing circles on Hermione’s other hand, the two of them standing closer than was absolutely necessary. Severus quickly dropped Hermione’s hand and stepped out of her reach. 

“Thank you, Healer Brown,” he said sincerely. “I’ll answer this owl and return shortly.” He looked meaningfully at Hermione, and she felt a pleasant shiver run up her spine. 

“I look forward to finishing our conversation, Professor,” she said softly. He nodded. An awkward silence fell over the room after Severus bowed out into the hallway. 

“You’re blushing, Hermione Granger,” Lavender finally said in an accusing tone. “Did Professor Snape curse you into mooning after him? What’s going on in that bushy head of yours?”

“We’re back!” said the Drs. Granger as they conveniently strolled into the room at that moment. “Oh, where’s Professor Snape?” They looked quite disappointed. 

“He was contacted about some business, I think,” Hermione said, ignoring Lavender. 

“He really grows on a body, doesn’t he?” her mother mused. “He has the tall, dark, and handsome angle down pat.”

“Handsome?” Lavender was baffled. 

“You don’t think so?”

To Hermione’s surprise, Lavender colored slightly. “I did have the most frightful crush on him in sixth year.” 

“But you were dating Ron!” Hermione’s shock was boundless. 

“So? So what if sometimes I liked to pretend that Ron’s hair was black and silky when we were snogging in the potions classroom after Quidditch practice?”

“Good grief,” Hermione’s father said. “I hope you didn’t have any professorial fantasies like that, Minnie o’mine.” 

“Of course not!” 

“Not that I can blame you, Healer Brown,” Hermione’s mother said. “If I were Hermione, I’d go for it. I couldn’t ask for a more interesting son-in-law.”

_“Mum!”_

“I’m just saying,” Hermione’s mother said, none too meekly. 

~~

Severus unfolded the parchment that a Hogwarts barn owl dropped into his lap when he reached the hospital’s post office. He felt annoyed to have been pulled from Hermione’s side at a moment that had felt strangely crucial. Now, standing under the frank clinical lights near the hospital atrium, the moment with Hermione felt like it had been an out-of-body experience, something that would be impossible to replicate. There was so much he yearned to say to her, even after all he had said in the Scamanders’ garden a dream ago. _He was getting older every day,_ he had felt anew at the sight of his brand-new nephew. _There is no more time in this life to waste._

_“Severus,”_ the letter read, _“You must be wondering how I wrote to you, given my ghosthood. The Bloody Baron was kind enough to find one of the less squeamish students—I hate to admit it, but it was a Gryffindor—who was willing to allow me to dictate to him.”_

Severus groaned. It was just like Lucius Malfoy to make the most of an opportunity to manipulate Severus's mind. He wondered if it would be possible to take out a restraining order against a ghost. 

_“Old friend, I am writing because I saw my son walking down towards the Slytherin common room yesterday evening. I suppose he was at Hogwarts on some kind of Ministry business. He works for Games & Sports, I think you said? He was carrying a bag of racing brooms. Perhaps he means to sponsor his old Quidditch team.”_

_Like father, like son,_ Severus mused. He supposed it was a harmless extracurricular activity. 

_“I’ve never seen Draco so distraught and depressed, Severus. Not since the height of the war, when we were all imprisoned in our home with my lovely sister-in-law and her master. Draco was practically as translucent as I am; that’s how ill he looked. Severus, as much as I would love to lord your debt to me over you for the rest of your days, there is a way in which you can repay me. Help my son recover the happiness that is his birthright. You will know when you’ve succeeded._

_Lucius”_

Severus tore up the parchment and fed it to a nearby decorative Venomous Tentacula. He had a job to do, and for once, he rather thought he might be able to succeed. 

~~

“What shall you name him?” 

“Scorpius Hermes,” Astoria said dreamily. “Draco once told me that Scorpius was what he wanted to name his future son. And Hermes after you, dear Hermione.”

“You’ve known me for exactly a day,” Hermione said to her. “I’m flattered, but this is too great an honor for me to accept.”

“I suspect I’ll know you for the rest of my life, Hermione Granger.” Astoria smiled sweetly. “We are to be great friends.” 

There was a sudden bang, prompting little Scorpius Hermes to burst into a stormy round of tears. Astoria gathered the infant close to her chest, looking terrified as the door to her hospital room was blasted open and a whirlwind of a man appeared in the doorway. His white-blond hair shone under the bright lighting of the labor and delivery wing, but his face was crimson, redder than Hermione had ever seen it.

“Draco!” Astoria uttered, her voice strangled.  


“Is it true?” Draco said, his eyes wild. “Is that my child you’re holding?”

“Draco, please,” Astoria whispered. Draco crossed over to her bed in a matter of moments, his eyes glued to the back of the baby’s head. Scorpius’s hair was a perfect match to his own. 

“Show me,” he said hoarsely. Astoria looked at him fearfully but slowly extended her arms, allowing Draco to pick up the infant. With trembling hands, Draco accepted the precious bundle. Little Scorpius’s bright blue eyes blinked sleepily at his father, and without further ado, Draco began to cry. Hermione felt like she was intruding on something very intimate, and she turned away slightly. Her parents were distinctly less scrupulous and watched the goings-on avidly. 

“How is this possible?” Draco said at last. “We’ve never …” he trailed off, looking embarrassed. 

“It’s a long story,” Astoria said, her large eyes ashamed. “Forgive me, Draco.”

“Long story or not, I need to hear it,” he replied firmly. “For Merlin’s sake, Astoria, babies don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

“Maybe the stork brought Scorpius,” one of the Drs. Granger said, punctuating the remark with a little snort. 

“Stork?” Draco looked mystified. “Scorpius?” He peered once more at the squalling baby in his arms and began to tear up again. Hermione gingerly patted his arm. 

“Do you approve of the name?” Astoria asked anxiously. “I remembered it was what you wanted to name your firstborn son, and it suits him, no?”

“It’s perfect,” Draco murmured, carefully burping the baby. “He’s perfect.”

“A narcissistic thing to say, considering he’s a dead ringer for you as an infant, but I’ll let it pass this time,” Severus said, billowing into the room and placing a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable and not tearing the place apart, Draco.” 

“I almost ripped apart Mother’s heirloom Black tapestry when I heard the news,” the Malfoy heir said shortly. “The baby showed up on it, you see. I couldn’t fathom how such a thing had come to pass. I had some time to cool off while in the queue for a visitor’s pass. But Astoria,” he leaned forward slightly, “I must know how my son came into existence.” Astoria blushed under the intensity of his attention. 

“My parents and I can leave the room if you’d like some privacy,” Hermione volunteered. 

“No, no!” Astoria exclaimed, catching Hermione’s hand. “You will know all eventually, in any case. I’ll need some feminine support during the telling of this tale, I think.” 

“Start from the beginning,” Severus advised. 

“One doesn’t know exactly where to begin,” Astoria said slowly, “but I suppose what it comes down to is that I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, Draco.” She looked away from him with a shy smile. “You were so helpful to Severus and so lost after the end of the war. You needed a friend. And I’ve always liked to be needed.” 

Draco said nothing but swallowed convulsively. His blue-gray eyes remained fastened on Astoria’s sweet face. 

“You used to humor me. You must have thought me such a little girl, and I was, I suppose, at the time. Daphne’s and Severus’s foolish little sister.” She gave a short, delicate snort. “All those babysitting walks through Muggle Paris, all those times we chatted with me sipping tea while you went for the adult option, the whisky and the cheap beer.” 

“I wouldn’t have done any of it if I hadn’t liked you or found you worthy of my time,” Draco said defensively. 

“Oh, I know. Merlin forbid that the great Draco Malfoy waste his time on a silly little Squib.”

“A Squib?” Hermione interjected without thought, completely taken aback. 

“Technically, Hermione, I am not a Squib, though I might as well be—albeit a rather high-functioning one. Severus and my parents saw to my rehabilitation, such as it has been,” Astoria said humorlessly. “Give me a cauldron and I’ll outbrew even the most talented witch or wizard, but I’m very minimally capable with a wand. Oddly enough, one of the few spells I have mastered is the Patronus charm. My magical disability was part of the reason why my parents left England during Daphne’s Hogwarts years. They thought it would be a good excuse to avoid sending me to Hogwarts. They knew I probably would attract attention at school for the wrong reasons, not to mention that my fallen birth mother was hiding in the library under the pseudonym of Madam Pince.” 

“Narcissa once referred to you as a most accomplished witch once,” Hermione said apologetically. “I suppose I just assumed …” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made the wrong assumption,” Severus interceded gently. “All the same, Astoria _is_ a witch, even if her abilities are unconventional. She is certainly accomplished in her own right.” Hermione bowed her head in agreement and acknowledgment, looking embarrassed. 

Astoria smiled tearfully at her half-brother. “Please don’t feel bad on my account, Hermione. I’ve had a long time to come to terms with my capabilities, and I believe I’ve learned to make the most of them. In any event, I felt that they were probably an insuperable obstacle in the path to obtaining Draco Malfoy’s love.” Draco made an indeterminate noise at her words but didn’t interrupt. 

“When Mark Evans arrived in France about a year after the war ended in England, I’ll admit that I projected some of my feelings for Draco onto him,” she continued softly. “He was a Muggle who couldn’t judge me for my inferior magical ability, he was handsome, he was about my age, he was in Severus’s employ so he must have been trustworthy, etcetera, etcetera. I was young and impressionable enough to be swayed into believing him an adequate substitute for what I really longed for.” 

“You could have told me how you felt,” Draco said brokenly.

“What good would that have done?” Astoria replied. “You didn’t think of me as anything but a ninny. You used to patronize me so.”

“That was how I showed that I cared,” Draco shot back. 

Hermione’s father scoffed. “That’s no way to treat a lady, son.”

Draco puffed up in preparation to retort, but the baby abruptly coughed up some milk onto his shoulder, which rather diminished the intended effect. 

“Anyway,” Hermione said hurriedly, “what happened after you took on Mark’s position in the company?”

“Oh, yes,” Astoria said, equally quickly. “Severus stopped trusting Mark after he tried to extort money from him rather than go to school. So he slowly started giving me more of Mark’s duties in the Muggle world because as a near-Squib, I necessarily would have to learn how to live among Muggles. I enjoyed the task at first. It was a lovely respite from the stress of France and Maman and Papa. Oh, and to be able to travel and disseminate Severus’s potions to the people for whom we were making them, that was wonderful.” 

“But?” Draco enquired, reluctantly placing his son back into Astoria’s arms. Astoria accepted him thankfully. 

“Mark was so suave and charming when he was training me to take over his position,” she continued. “He had this way about him, you know?” Draco looked miffed. “It was easy to overlook the way he’d manipulated Severus. He was seemingly so kind to me in my time of heartbreak.” 

“For Salazar’s sake, Astoria!” Draco cut in. “There was no need for all this heartbreak nonsense. You could have spoken to me.”

_“You_ could have spoken to _me!”_ she cried, and little Scorpius, sensing his mother’s distress, began to bawl. “I was so young—I’m still so young! If you felt something for me, you should have told me. You could have taken the mature route.” 

“Give me the child,” Severus said, looking exasperated. “He needs some reassurance; he thinks his mother is in pain.” He trained a stern glare onto Draco, and the young wizard veritably cowered. 

“Finish the story, Tori dear,” soothed Hermione’s mother as she helped Severus coddle the baby. Hermione tried to ignore the primal part of her that enjoyed the sight of her old potions professor with a baby far too much to be allowed. Astoria gathered herself together slowly. 

“Yes, well,” she murmured, flushing darkly. “I … became desperate. I was stressed and lonely, and the only person who seemed to understand fully was Mark. I couldn’t tell Severus; he’d kill Draco for leading me on, even though he hadn’t, really. I couldn’t tell Daphne because she had her own romantic problems. Maman and Papa would have deemed the Malfoy connection to be a poor one—no offense, Draco.”

“None taken,” he said softly. 

“So one day, nine months ago, more or less, I was brewing Polyjuice Potion; it was one of the requirements to obtain my Potions Mastery. I made the mistake of telling Mark about it and spilling my ‘unlucky in love’ woes to him; a part of me wonders if he’d somehow dosed me with Veritaserum.” 

“I wouldn’t put anything past the bastard,” Severus said forcefully. 

“No cursing in front of the baby,” Hermione’s mother said reproachfully. Severus had enough grace to look abashed, but Astoria smiled at him gratefully. 

“In my state of mind, I would have done anything he suggested. And what he suggested was audacious, but also rather brilliant. He offered to take some of the Polyjuice himself, to take on Draco’s appearance. To let me say whatever I wanted—no, needed—to say. To pretend for an hour that I was Draco Malfoy’s girl.”

An uneasy silence settled upon the group. “That’s mad,” Draco said at last. 

“I can’t believe you went to such lengths, Astoria,” Severus said. “It was illegal. If you’d been found out …” 

“Nothing was supposed to happen!” she cried. “I was just going to tell him all my feelings while he was in the guise of Draco. Somehow, I found myself in Brighton and not remembering how I got there. I couldn’t tell either of you the truth, I was so afraid. And then, a few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant …”

“Evans took advantage of you, then,” Severus spat, his eyes stormy. He handed the baby to Hermione unceremoniously, kneeling down next to his sister’s bed so that he and she could look each other in the eyes. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I wasn’t sure anyone would believe me, and I still didn’t know what had really happened,” Astoria whispered. “I was embarrassed and ashamed, brother.”

“You weren’t … hurt, were you?” Draco asked suddenly, his gaze averted from his son’s mother. “Physically, I mean.”

“I’m afraid it was just my pride and my heart that were wounded,” Astoria replied gently, her limpid eyes watchful. “That’s the good thing about not being able to remember, I suppose.” 

“Evans needs to be brought to justice,” Severus said shortly. “I won’t let him get away with this crime against you.”

Astoria laid a long-fingered hand, so similar to Severus’s own, on her half-brother’s forearm. “Let it be, Sev,” she said. “Somehow, the Polyjuice ensured that Scorpius resembled the better man. No harm, no foul.”

“You are too forgiving,” Draco muttered. He looked angrier than Hermione had ever seen him. “What Evans did was a violation. He must pay.” 

“Let’s just start over,” Astoria pleaded. “Let’s enjoy our son. I don’t want Scorpius’s life to start with his father in Azkaban because he killed someone.”

Draco gaped at her for a minute that felt like an eternity to Hermione. “Yes, let’s play happy families, shall we?” he finally said, his voice tart. He turned with a flourish and marched out of the room, nose in the air. 

“Go after him, will you, Severus?” Astoria said wearily. 

“I don’t agree with you about how you’re choosing to handle Evans, but I will respect your wishes,” Severus said to her. He left in Draco’s wake, rather less dramatically than the Malfoy heir had done. 

“Tell me about this Polyjuice Potion, one scientist to another,” Hermione’s father said to Tori, attempting to break the tension still lingering poisonously in the stuffy hospital room.

“You know, I think Scorpius is ready for a diaper change,” Hermione interjected hurriedly.


End file.
